


Their First and Last Meeting (and all the years in-between)

by Dammit_Jim



Category: the lord of the rings
Genre: AU, Adult!Aragorn, Angst, Declarations Of Love, Denial, Falling In Love, Hurt/Comfort, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Never-ageing!Legolas, Slow Build, Teenage!Aragorn, child!Aragorn, mentions of characters and events from the Hobbit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-02
Updated: 2013-08-02
Packaged: 2017-11-27 22:22:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 22
Words: 46,534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/667127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dammit_Jim/pseuds/Dammit_Jim
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is my take on how Aragorn and Legolas met, how their friendship grew, and how it transformed into something more. A very vague backstory on Sauron’s return follows side by side with their developing relationship.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A First Meeting

**Author's Note:**

> Credit for the photos used in this fanfiction goes to Alef, who graciously allowed me to post them in my story. Alef, and their other cosplays - which are brilliant so definitely check them out!! - can be found on [Deviantart](http://the-alef.deviantart.com/) and [Tumblr](http://alef-art.tumblr.com/).
> 
> I have done a lot of research for this so most of what occurs within this story will be actual canon except if I make a mistake or choose to drop or add an idea/concept/scene to strengthen my story. But I guess you can just dismiss most of the mistakes/changes because the storyline of this is pretty much AU except for a few obvious canon ideas/concepts/scenes. I know the majority of people are heading to The Hobbit tag because of the new movie but Aragorn/Legolas has always been my favourite and I cannot ignore those gorgeous two.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to portray Aragorn as odd, compared to the average human, and I believe this is how he would react to this sort of situation.

Legolas had not been in Imladris long, an hour at most, when a commotion disturbed his quite stroll among the gardens. He followed the noise to its origins and, without drawing attention to himself, watched as several elven guards and Elrond, himself, gathered at the entrance around a lone brown horse. Legolas realised that what the guards and Elrond knelt around was a woman, no doubt the owner of that horse.

He heard whispered words, and crept nearer. A deep voice, that of Elrond’s, and a sweeter one, that of the fallen woman, spoke in a grave tone. Legolas realised in surprise that they spoke in Westron (English), and knew without a doubt that the guards around them knew not what was being said.

The woman struggled to speak but after a while she finally managed to, “We need shelter, please Elrond,” she begged.

“What has happened, Gilraen,” Elrond whispered back, his deep voice carrying across the small courtyard, “What has happened to Arathorn?”

“He-He is dead,” she managed before falling limp in one of the guards arms.

“Take her to be healed, and prepare chambers,” Elrond ordered loudly, switching back into Elvish-tongue. 

The guards dispersed quickly, carrying away the poor woman. Legolas could only assume that Arathorn, whoever the man was, was related to her in some way. A brother, father or husband perhaps? A son even? Elrond rose slowly from where he sat and turned to meet Legolas’ inquisitive yet grim expression. 

Legolas was not prepared for what lay in Elrond’s arms. Though at first look, one might think it were a dirty blanket, at closer inspection Legolas could see that it was in fact a young human boy, all shaggy brown hair and green rags. He was no older than two-years-old, and lay motionless in Elrond’s arms.

“Legolas,” Elrond stated, though out of surprise or greeting, the young elf did not know. His face quickly became grave, “I must ask something of you,” he paused, as if wondering how to word it, “please take the boy and look after him,” he said, “the woman’s wounds are deep, and I fear she will not live without my aid.”

Legolas nodded without a thought, and soon found himself with an armful of human boy. He stood frozen to the spot, suddenly unsure what to do. He finally decided to take the boy into one of the small pavilions and set him down. There Legolas watched him. The boy sat completely still, hardly moving or making a noise. His head was bowed as if in mourning but no whimper left the boy’s lips. That confused Legolas, for he had thought all humans were overtly emotional.

The elf could only guess at what the boy was feeling, having never experienced the death of a loved one. He tried to think of a way to comfort the child but didn’t know what to do, and so he sat beside him. The boy’s silence soon began to unnerve Legolas and so the elf found himself kneeling in front of the boy and trying to draw his down-cased eyes up to meet his. With no avail he sat back on his heels and decided that speaking to the boy could not do anything more to worsen the situation.

“My name is Legolas,” Legolas said softly in Westron. 

The boy’s head jutted ever so slightly forward at the sudden noise. While the words Legolas spoke were properly pronounced, the elf knew that having not spoken in Westron for so long the would likely sound strange.

“What is your name, little one?” he asked.

When the boy didn’t answer Legolas sat down on the floor, and leant back on the bench the young one sat on.

“It must be strange coming here,” Legolas said, attempting another way of calming the boy, “you’ve probably never seen an elf before and I know it must be frightening arriving in a place you have never seen.” 

Still the boy made no attempt to answer, but Legolas had a hunch that his voice was soothing the child.

“This place is called Imladris,” Legolas said, “known as Rivendell to your people,” he paused and looked about, “you must miss home,” he said, I do too, I’ve only been here but an hour and yet I feel drawn toward the woods in which my people dwell-”

“My name is Aragorn,” the boy suddenly said, interrupting Legolas’ speech.

Legolas turned to him and saw that the boy was finally looking up. Beneath Aragorn’s dark curls two intelligent eyes watched the elf.

“It is very nice to meet you Aragorn,” Legolas said.

Aragorn looked down once again before slowly raising his head, “is Mama alright?” he asked.

Legolas paused, and thought over whether to lie to the boy or speak the truth, and in the end he thought it better to tell the boy the truth, “She is badly wounded but one of the best healers in Middle Earth is tending to her.”

Aragorn nodded before whispering, “I don’t want her to go like Papa did.”

Legolas frowned, so it had been the boy’s father and the woman’s husband. He tried to think of how to respond to that statement. 

“Your father never left,” he said, and he believed the words for he knew it was true.

Aragorn looked up and his little eyebrows knitted together in confusion. 

“Elves live long lives, we learn things and know things others do not,” Legolas told the child, “something we know, which man often forgets, is that when animals or plants die they never really go.” Legolas watched in content as the boy’s face brightened with hope, “All that they were; their energy and love flows into the things around them, giving life back to the land.”

Aragorn blinked in thought, “Papa died protecting me,” he said.

Legolas smiled sadly, and turned to the little thing, “Then here,” he placed a hand over Aragorn’s chest, “is where your father will always be.” Legolas paused, before adding, “When you wish to talk to him all you have to do is close your eyes and think of him. He will always be there for you.”

Legolas took away his hand and watched Aragorn. The boy stared down, wide-eyed at where the large hand had lain upon his chest. He wasn’t sure whether to feel happy, relieved or both. Either way he was unable to speak and Legolas knew it, and so the elf sat in silence beside the boy and waited.

After a while the boy scooted to the edge of the bench and looked down at Legolas, who turned his head to smile up at him. The boy stared for a while, squinting his eyes in thought before reaching out with his grubby fingers to feel Legolas’ blond hair. The boy, as if satisfied with what he had found, lent back, tilting his head to the side.

“Are you an elf princess?” Aragorn asked.

Legolas did not often laugh but so shocked by the statement he was, that he could not help himself and grinned widely, letting out a sing-song-like chuckle. 

“No,” he said with a smile, “but that’s close enough.”

Aragorn frowned.

“I am Legolas Greenleaf, Prince of the Woodland Realm.”

Aragorn raised an eyebrow and lent back, as if struggling to decide whether Legolas was lying to him or not. 

“I assure you I am male,” Legolas said.

Aragorn shrugged, not seeming to care, before he bit his lip, “Are we friends now?” he asked.

Legolas tilted his head, “If you’d like.”

Aragorn grinned, and nodded his head vigorously.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You’re probably not interested in this but when I was about 4 I thought any one younger than about 12 with long hair was a female. This led to some very interesting conversations with my two *very* male cousins, who just so happened to have long hair. It took me a few years to work out they were guys. I still get teased about it.


	2. Blind Friendship

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elrond and company visit Mirkwood Forest for a council. Estel tags along but soon finds he is not as welcome there as he had once thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ll give a literal translation beside each elvish sentence/word and then further explain them at the end of each page.

Estel stared up at the canopy of trees above him, watching as his view shook gently with each sway of his gentle brown pony. Elrond led a party of elves to the Woodland Realm of Mirkwood Forest, for an errand, which was no concern to Estel. The boy’s mother had remained in Imladris, and she had been reluctant to let Elrond take her son with him to Mirkwood but the boy was so keen to go that she finally relented and let him. 

Estel, as long as he could remember, had always been in Imladris, and had never set foot outside its walls, however, Elladan and Elrohir, Elrond’s two sons, had assured him that he had come to Imladris at a young age from a land far off to the west. He knew no more than that, though, as it was all they would say on the matter.

Elrond’s party had traveled far, and for many long hours, when they finally arrived at the dew-glistening spires of pure light and beauty which was Thranduil’s Palace. Estel, wide-eyed, looked up at the brilliance, which sat before him and wondered if he’d ever see a sight more beautiful than the Palace of Mirkwood. Mirkwood guards led the party into the dazzling halls of the palace, guiding them to their rooms and leaving them with messages of welcome and directions for supper.

Estel spent the entire time wriggling in his dirty garments, practically jumping out of his shoes in eagerness to explore his new surroundings. While elves remained clean for long periods humans had an awful habit of falling prey to dirt and mud, and a mortal boy of seven, even more so. This meant that Elrond had a difficult time talking Estel out of running off before the elven maids could clean and dress him in finer clothing. When Estel was finally dressed Elrond allowed him to run off, a small smile playing upon the Lord’s lips as he remembered his own two boy’s childhood mischief.

Estel skipped down the halls, greeting every female elf with a low bow and every male elf with a smile, though he likely mixed that up a bit as not all the female elves wore dresses. At first his excitement and happiness at being outside of Imladris’ walls blinded him to the looks of confusion, disgust and fear but soon he began to notice them and his skipping became a jog, which became a slow hesitant walk. The elves began speaking in hushed elfish as he passed them. 

“That’s a human child,” one elf said to a fellow guard.

“What’s it doing here?” asked an elven maid.

“Look how dirty it is,” said another.

Estel stumbled and frowned at the talk, he wasn’t dirty. The elves didn’t know that he could speak and understand Elvish better than any of them could hope to speak and understand Westron (the equivalent of English). The talk sent a shrill chill down his spine and left a large lump in his throat. He had never thought he was unwelcome among the elves. He had assumed that the Woodland elves would be like that in Imladris, and that they would treat him like one of their own. It seemed they did not like him, even before they had truly met him. He wanted to say something back to them, to tell them he was better than they thought but they continued to speak.

“Do you suppose Elrond brought it here?”

“Yes, look at the clothing it wears.”

“What do you suppose possessed Elrond to have something so dirty dressed in his fine silks?”

“Oh its mother or father could have stolen it, they’re a shameful lot, those mortals.”

Estel began retreating quickly away from them all, his heart beating fast and his head spinning. _He wouldn’t have come if he had known he was not welcome. If he was such a burden why hadn’t Elrond said something? He’ll leave as soon as he can, and run away._

Estel tripped down the steps he hadn’t known where there, and tried to catch himself on a nearby plant pot but instead slashed his knee on a rusting metal bench and fell forward with a yelp. He sat for a bit before biting back his tears and continuing down the hall and out into an empty garden courtyard.

That was where a familiar elf found him. He had looked for the young one after Lord Elrond had told him of the mortal child’s presence. The only reason he had found the boy so quickly was because of the ill talk of him. He assumed the child could understand Elvish now for the young boy sat alone, his face downcast, like it had been on their first meeting.

“Mae g'ovannen (you are well met), young one,” a kind, Elvish voice greeted.

Estel looked up and stared at the face above him, “Are you here to tell me to leave?” he asked in perfect Elvish, “Goheno nin (Forgive me), I did not know I wasn’t allowed to be here,” the boy began to get up but a strong hand lay itself on his shoulder and stopped him.

“You are always welcome in my father’s Realm,” Legolas told the boy.

The boy looked up once again, before tilting his head, “Legolas?” He asked, more to himself than to the elf before him, as if the memory of their first meeting was a distant one.

Legolas smiled and that seemed to give the boy confidence enough to believe in his guess because the boy threw himself at the elf and hugged him, “Legolas,” he squealed.

Legolas hugged the boy back, “It is good to see you again, henig (my child).”

Estel let him go and sat back down on the bench, swinging his legs and smiling in content despite the stinging of the cut on his knee.

“I’m assuming you remember me then,” Legolas said, sitting beside him.

Estel bit his bottom lip, “uh,” he said, before playing with some moss which grew on the place he sat, “sort of,” he admitted.

Legolas smiled, “You’ve grown quickly,” he said.

Estel sat up straighter at the statement, “I’m seven,” he said with pride, “seven last month.”

“I missed your birthday,” Legolas realised.

Estel laughed, “Aw, I don’t mind,” he said, “You’ve missed six after all.”

They fell into silence before Legolas saw the gash on Estel’s knee.

“What happened?” he asked, motioning to the wound.

Estel looked away, “I fell,” he said quietly, “I was running and didn’t look where I was going.”

Legolas knelt in front of the boy, so that he was eye level with him, and began to examine the child’s knee. It was a deep gash, but it was clean and small, though, that didn’t mean it wouldn’t leave a scar.

“And why were you running, henig (my child)?” Legolas asked, as he inspected the injury. Though he knew the answer, he wished Estel to tell him of his own accord.

“The elves here don’t seem to like me very much,” Estel said, “they were whispering about me.”

Legolas nodded, and gave a small sigh, “I’ll talk with them,” he said, “Goheno nin (forgive me) for my people’s harshness; grudges between man and elf run deep.”

Estel shook his head, “But why?” he asked.

Legolas smiled softly, “Perhaps that is a tale for another time,” he said. Stories of Sauron and Isildur would have to wait. If the boy delved too soon into the history of the War of the Last Alliance he may accidentally come across his own history and that could prove disastrous. 

Elrond had not only told Legolas where to find the boy; he had also told him of the boy’s father and of the boy’s blood, and what that might mean for all who lived in Middle Earth. For Aragorn’s own protection his mother and Elrond had devised a simple plan to keep the boy’s heritage secret until they deemed him fit to keep the secret himself. They had renamed the boy Estel, an accurate name, for it was Sindarin for ‘Hope’.

Legolas placed a hand over the wound and began to softly chant words Estel had never heard before. The words were in Quenya, the ancient language of the elves; few could read it and even less could speak it. It was known only among the wise and royal of the elves such as Elrond and Thranduil, and their kin.

When Legolas moved his hand away Estel blinked in astonishment. The wound had healed! All that was left was the raised line of a scar slightly paler than the rest of his skin; but it looked years old.

“You’ve healed it!” Estel laughed in awe, moving his knee and finding that it did not hurt as it had before.

“I’m afraid I could not stop it from scarring,” Legolas said.

Estel grinned, “I don’t mind,” he said, “Scars mean you’re tough, right?”

Legolas nodded in amusement, “Well I’m sure you can tell Elrond all about your battle scar soon,” he laughed, “After the Council’s meeting you’re to dine with my father and I.”

Estel smiled, and then bit his bottom lip, “Could you teach me how to do that?” he asked.

Legolas’ smiled, “If you’d like,” he said, “I can do more with herbs, though, I only have simple healing abilities as I’m only a messenger and scout,” he admitted, “If you wanted proper lessons you should ask Elrond, howev-“

“I’d like you to teach me!” Estel cut in, before shrinking back and muttering a ‘please’ as an afterthought.

Legolas nodded, “I shall do that then.”

That was when the elven horns blew, announcing the Council’s end. Legolas guided Estel through the palace, explaining the history of whatever painting, object or tapestry caught the young child’s inquisitive eyes. If any elf looked on in disgust or disapproval it was short lived as Legolas was a well-respected elf and his good judgment of character was well known. However, that didn’t stop Estel from sticking out his tongue at any of those frowning elves.

\--  
 **Blue print for Dictionary below:  
 **Sindarin** /Quenya – Translation - _Literal Meaning_**

 ** **In order of first appearance to last:****  
 **Estel** – Hope  
 **Mae g'ovannen** – it is good to see you again – _you are well met_  
 **Goheno nin** – sorry – _forgive me_  
 **Henig** – young one/child – _my child_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so happy I started this story. Tolkien’s Middle Earth is so bloody intricate. I knew he went into great detail but I never thought it this detailed. He was such an intelligent and amazing man, and I knew this before all my research, but wow, I never knew how accurate that was. Unfortunately I could find little on the healing techniques of the Elves so I improvised a little, hope you don’t mind.


	3. A Day of Play

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Estel just wants someone to play with.

_Estel gripped his mighty sword, brandishing the weapon as if it were an extension of himself. He’d trained long and strenuous hours and today his hard work would pay off. The troll, which had deemed him a fitful meal, grinned with horrible yellow teeth; thinking itself too strong for the young boy. But it underestimated Estel for he had stealth and agility on his side. He moved this way and that and in one single blow, slay the terrible beast._

“Ah ha!” Estel cried, leaping forward with his wooden sword, slashing at the tree or rather ‘Troll’.

 _”But oh no!”_ Estel cried, continuing his narration, _“the troll is not alone!”_ he pretends to fall back, struggling to pick up his sword, _”But Elrohir and Elladan are here, and they save me from my-”_ Estel trailed off, looking up at the twins, “You’re meant to save me from the troll,” he grumbled.

Elrohir raised an eyebrow looking down at the young boy. However, Elladan gave a small smile, amused by Estel’s imagination, “I see no troll,” he said.

Estel rolled his eyes, standing up and walking over to them. The two brothers looked so similar that a stranger might think they were seeing double; Estel had learnt quickly to tell the two apart. Elrohir was the serious, straight-backed one, while Elladan had a slight carefree glint in his eye, and stepped lightly, as if unburdened by life.

“Well of course not,” Estel responded, “you don’t see it because it does not exist; I am playing make believe,” he explained, before grinning, “Will you two come play with me?” he asked.

Elrohir gave his brother a look, before turning back to Estel, “You will begin training with us soon.”

“And your games will no longer seem as fun as they once did,” Elladan added. 

“For peril awaits in lands yonder,” Elrohir finished.

Estel sighed, “Aw, Elladan, Elrohir, Gin ú-chenion (I don’t understand you),” he grumbled, “You’re never here and when you are all you do is talk of ‘danger’ and ‘peril’,” Estel said, “do you not have any fun?”

The twins looked at each other before turning back to Estel to shake their heads. 

“If he is to lose his childhood so soon I certainly shan’t sit here and watch it fade before it has truly ended.”

Estel perked up at the familiar voice, and spun quickly with glee, “Legolas!” he laughed, before running to hug him.

Legolas hugged the boy close, “Ci maer, mellonig? (Are you well, my friend?)” he asked.

Estel nodded, “Better now that you are here,” he said.

Legolas froze, shocked by the statement, “Wh-What is it that you were playing?” he asked.

Estel let him go, oblivious to the fact he’d made the elf feel uncomfortable, “I was fighting trolls!” He said, “but I slew them easily,” the boy told him proudly.

Estel picked up his sword and pointed to another, which lay near, “Let us play pretend and fight!” He said gleefully. 

Legolas picked up the wooden sword and twirled it in his hand experimentally, before moving into a fighting stance and hiding one arm behind his back. Elrohir and Elladan assumed Legolas had saved them from having to play with Estel and left to complete whatever errand they had been sent to complete. The twins would be wrong, though; Legolas enjoyed spending time with the mortal child.

Legolas raised his sword and Estel grinned, striking out quickly at the elf. The boy’s lunge left his entire right side free for attack but Legolas didn’t take it; instead he jumped back in false surprise. Estel let out a laugh, believing it, and Legolas frowned in thought as if needing the concentration. He began to circle the boy.

Estel swung his sword back and forth, and Legolas lunged, missing the boy’s side by a centimeter. Estel gasped and his face grew serious as he concentrated on his moving target. Legolas thrust his sword toward the boy’s foot. Estel saw it and dodged quickly, blocking the swing of the elf’s next attack.

Legolas pulled back and let the boy recover. Estel watched the elves’ shoulders, and feet and leapt forward, swinging his sword at the elf’s feet as a distraction before bringing it up quickly and plunging it into Legolas’ side. Legolas stumbled back and fell to the floor.

“Nîdh! (Ouch!)” 

Estel’s eyes widened in worry, “Boe gin eithad? (Are you alright?)”

Legolas groaned and Estel knelt beside him, “Boe gin eithad?” he repeated softly.

Legolas suddenly grabbed the boy and pulled him down with him, tickling him all over. Estel laughed as he realised Legolas was only pretending to be hurt.

“Posto (stop that),” Estel managed, “posto!”

Legolas let him go and both sat up, their wooden swords forgotten beside them.

“You’re a horrible at sword fighting,” Estel said, clueless to the fact that Legolas had let him win.

Legolas nodded, “I’m afraid so, mellonig (my friend),” he paused, “I am better with a bow.”

Estel looked up in interest, “A bow?” he wondered to himself, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen one of those...Can I see it?”

Legolas smiled, “Of course.”

Legolas went and retrieved it, returning with a bunch of arrows in a quiver slung over his shoulder. He showed the bow to Estel, who grinned, “Oh you mean a peng!” he said, “Elrohir and Elladan use them.”

Legolas smiled, “In Westron (English) they are called bow’s.” 

He then held out the bow to the child who took it and held it as carefully as he could. The inquisitive grey eyes of his looked up and down the bow, noticing every mark and engraving.

“What is a pilin called in Westron?” Estel asked, his eyes still scanning the weapon.

“An arrow,” Legolas said.

Estel looked up, “Anarow.”

Legolas smiled, “No,” he laughed, “Just,” he paused, “Arrow.”

Estel blinked, “A pilin is a arrow?”

Legolas nodded, ignoring the slight mistake.

“It is very pretty,” Estel told the elf, handing the weapon back to him.

Legolas nodded, “It is my most beloved bow,” he stroked it affectionately, “I spent long hours making it.” Legolas then looked up, “Where do you wish me to aim?” he asked, assuming the boy wanted a demonstration.

Estel bit his lip in thought, looking about, “Hit the center on the second knot on that tree,” he said, pointing to a tree riddled with knots, which sat in the garden a few meters away.

Legolas smirked, “Why don’t I try aiming for the knot on the tree by the far wall?” he asked.

Estel frowned, “I don’t think there _are_ any knots on that tree,” he said.

Before Estel could even finish his sentence Legolas had taken an arrow from his quiver and in the blink of the eye, readied his bow, pulled back the bowstring and let the arrow fly. It sped quickly across the clearing and hit the tree with a soft “phuff,” letting a few splinters fly.

Estel’s eyes widened, “Wow,” he said, before running out to get a better look at the tree, “but I bet you didn’t hit a knot,” he called over his shoulder.

Legolas smiled, shouldering his bow and watching the boy run.

By the time Estel reached the tree he was huffing and puffing, doubling over to catch his breath. He looked up at the tree and blinked in astonishment, not only had Legolas hit a knot, he’d hit the only one on the whole tree. Then and there Estel promised himself he’d make a bow and arrow and teach himself to shoot it as well as Legolas could. _Who wanted to fight with a sword anyway?_

\--

**Blue print for Dictionary below:  
 **Sindarin** /Quenya – Translation - _Literal Meaning_**

****In order of first appearance to last:****  
 **Gin ú-chenion** – I don’t understand you – _I don’t understand you_  
 **Ci maer, mellonig?** – Are you well, my friend? – _Are you well, friend_  
 **Nîdh!** – Ouch! – _It hurts!_  
 **Boe gin eithad?** – Are you alright? – _Do you need aid?_  
 **Posto** – Stop that – _Rest_  
 **Mellonig?** – My friend? – _My close friend_  
 **Peng** – Bow – _Bow (as in bow and arrow)_  
 **Pilin** – Arrow – _Arrow (as in bow and arrow)_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I based Elrohir and Elladan’s personalities on how they were acted in the movie Born of Hope. I highly recommend every LOTR fan to watch it. It is bloody amazing! It tells the story of the Dúnedain and how Aragorn’s mother and father, Gilrean and Arathorn, met. Aragorn also makes an appearance as the cutest toddler I have ever seen! Forewarning, the ending left me in tears.


	4. Archery's for Elves Alone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Estel and Elrond's company return to Mirkwood forest. Estel's brought along something he wishes to show Legolas however things don't go exactly to plan and the afternoon ends with an interesting and confusing outcome.

Estel readjusted the bow upon his shoulder and rode beside Elrond as they, and their company, rode into the Palace of Thranduil. The journey had been as long as it had Estel’s first time, and as beautiful. Elrond grimaced slightly at the bow Estel carried. The elf lord gave it a skeptical, somewhat mistrusting look, not because Estel carried a bow but because he carried that certain one. 

The boy had made it himself and it was of poor shape and material, and looked nothing like the elegant bows of Elves. That is why, out of politeness as well as convenience - as Estel had begun his training with Elrohir and Elladan in the forests around Rivendell-, that Elrond offered to make Estel a bow himself. The boy had kindly declined the offer.

Estel was proud of his bow, though he knew it looked nothing like Legolas’. He’d been practicing often with it, hoping that one day he might become as good, or near to as good, as Legolas. 

As soon as they arrived in Mirkwood Estel left the company and sought Legolas, his bow hopping up and down on his shoulder as he jogged. Long years had passed, three to be exact. Estel always worried that having been away from Legolas’ company for so long that his memory of the blond elf would weaken or waver, or that they would have both changed to an extent that their friendship shriveled away. That was probably one of the reasons Estel sought to impress Legolas, that and the fact that Estel could never bare to disappoint the elf.

Nothing exciting had occurred in Imladris since last the elf and mortal met. Well nothing save for a surprise visit from a strange company of dwarves, wizard and hobbit whom sought shelter within Imladris’ walls. Estel had never seen a dwarf, so seeing thirteen all in one go, as well as a hobbit, had been an astonishing treat. The dwarves were nothing like the elves. They stunk and their speech was riddled with vulgarisms. They knew not the beautiful words of Sindarin and it was obvious to the young boy that they had disliked their stay.

But other than that, Estel had been left to entertain himself, counting down the days to an unreliable date in which he could see Legolas once again. He often asked Elrond when they’d next set forth for Mirkwood, or if Legolas could come to Imladris but the Elf lord had refused to give solid answers to either so instead Estel was reduced to meeting Legolas in his dreams.

The image of Legolas in his mind was far from the real thing. In Estel’s dreams Legolas’ blond hair was always duller, and his green tunic and leggings were never made from that leaf-like material that they ought to be. So Estel had been reduced to memories and hopes, and the knowledge that he would attempt to impress the elf when they next met. Maybe it would mean they’d see more of each other. 

Legolas had rushed down to meet the party as soon as he heard the horns signaling their arrival. He sought a small boy with shoulder length hair and chubby cheeks but found an older one, seemingly stretched, walking towards him. 

Legolas smiled at Estel and walked forwards to envelop him in a hug, “Gwannas lû and, mellon nîn (it has been too long, my friend).”

“Gi suilon (hello),” Estel smiled, hugging the elf back. 

Legolas let him go, “You’ve grown,” he said.

Estel nodded, noticing from the corner of his eye as Elrond and his company left the courtyard. Sadly Estel _had_ grown. He had been at Legolas’ shoulder last time and now he just reached the elf’s nose. It saddened him that so much time had passed, that so much had changed already.

Legolas noticed Estel’s sadness and was about to say something when he noticed the object slung over the boy’s shoulder, “Archery?” the elf, quirked a brow, “it seems I’ve inspired you to make a bow of your own.”

Estel grinned, “Yes,” he said, “and I’ve been practicing!” The boy paused in thought before adding, “Would you like to see?” 

Legolas smiled, “Of course,” the elf responded, “come, I’ll show you were I train.”

Legolas then led the child through Thranduil’s palace, all the time his mind reeling at the speed of the boy’s growth. Soon the boy would meet his teenage years, and then manhood, and in the blink of an eye he would have passed his prime and fallen into the decline of old old age. Legolas forced himself to stop at that, and think of the present, of happier times and happier thoughts.

Where Legolas trained was on one of the high balconies of the palace. The ground was far below but the trees still managed to tower above. To the side a number of bows hung, and a couple of quivers overflowing with arrows. Legolas told Estel of how he used to climb from this very balcony onto the tree beside it and jump from one to another, going out as far and climbing as high as he dared. Estel had looked at the trees in wonderment as the elf told the tale. He’d try it himself if not for his inexperience and the strong probability that he might fall.

Legolas also pointed out which trees he aimed for with his bow, and which trees were good for making bows and arrows from. Estel was surprised to learn that many of the trees he looked upon from that spot, despite their practically identical shape and form, were completely different species.

After the little talk Legolas stepped back and gestured for Estel to go ahead. The boy breathed out, trying to calm his anxious heartbeat, as he took his bow in hand and placed an arrow to it, pulling the bow string back and aiming with one eye closed. He aimed for the fourth tree along, not too close and yet nowhere near as far as he knew Legolas could shoot. He breathed in, adjusting the angle of the weapon, breathed out, and let go. The arrow sped through the air, missing the tree he’d aimed for by two meters, and missing all the trees behind it – so Estel could not pretend he’d aimed for a farther target.

The boy didn’t dare look at Legolas, instead he pulled his bow back, breathed, aimed, and fired, this time at a closer tree. It nicked the edge, letting tiny bits of wood fly, but quickly made its descent towards the forest floor. He tried again, this time quicker, more out of anger than anything else. 

He aimed for the closest tree, only a meter from him, thinking that surely he couldn’t miss that. He breathed in, aimed and fired. He missed it by a long shot. 

His arms dropped to his side, “I...I’m sorry,” he didn’t know what else to say. 

He looked down in embarrassment, hiding his face behind a curtain of his wavy black hair. He felt humiliated. He felt like a disappointment, ike a let down, a stupid delusional mortal thinking himself above his own race, thinking he could be like an elf, thinking he could be as good as one.

Suddenly an arrow was pressed into his right hand. Estel turned to see Legolas standing behind him, far closer than he’d expected. Estel gave him a questioning look, and sought an answer in the blue eyes of the blond elf. He found none. 

“Non dhínen (shh/don’t talk like that),” Legolas said softly, encircling his fingers around Estel’s right wrist. 

Estel turned back to the trees as Legolas reached around him to take his other hand, raising both the boy’s arms to Estel’s shoulder height. The boy’s mind reeled in confusion; it felt empty and thick, as if from lack of sleep. It filled to the brim with some sort of muddy liquid, and all he could think of was the blond hair, slender hands, and soft features of Legolas Greenleaf. 

The elf’s touch was neither cold nor hot, but a strange sort of warm, like the touch of the sun on one’s bare skin during a cloudy Autumn day. Estel’s heart hammered in his chest, and his ears throbbed. He nearly didn’t head the hushed words Legolas whispered against his cheek, “Davo eithad anech (let me help you).” 

Legolas pulled back the bowstring with Estel’s hand, helping him aim with his left. Estel shook away the haze in his mind, and succeeded in regaining his eyesight. It felt as if he were separate from his body, looking out from within a burrow or cave. He tried to concentrate on the bow, on his breathing, but the soft touch of Legolas’ chest on his back with every breath the elf let out, was distracting beyond belief.

Estel tried again, focusing on the bow and where he wished to shoot it. He felt Legolas’ chest against him but, with a shock, he realised that wasn’t all he felt. He could feel the floor they stood on, the walls which held it up, and where it’s foundations lay, he could feel the forest’s floor– fifty levels or so below him – as if it were right under his feet. Through Legolas Estel could feel it all. Every leaf upon that floor and every root which wound its way through the damp undergrowth. The distance between trees suddenly made sense and he was no longer a mortal in an elf’s world.

Estel didn’t even notice when Legolas’ grip on him loosened, “Sí (now),” the elf whispered, letting go of Estel completely.

Estel let the arrow fly and closed his eyes as the thick liquid trickled out from his body, leaving him with a clear mind. He blinked and looked down to make sure he was himself again. He saw no physical change or transformation, and yet he knew what he had felt.

“Mae carnen, Estel, mellon nín (well done, Estel, my friend),” Legolas congratulated.

Estel looked up to see his arrow embedded in the center of the tree just beyond the one he’d first aimed for. 

The boy blinked and shook his head, “How-?” but he was lost for words, “What-?”

Estel turned to Legolas and frowned but the elf only smiled back, “I only gave you a glimpse of the advantage elves have over archery,” he said, “it was never fair for you to think we were unaided.”

Estel couldn’t answer. He didn’t know what to say. What he’d experienced had blown his mind, and not just the out of body part. It was obvious that whatever Legolas had shown him was not often seen or felt by mortals, and so for some reason that made him feel special and different from the rest. 

Legolas looked away, feeling slightly unnerved by the awe and admiration he saw in his friend’s eyes. He turned to his bow collection and sought the best of the lot, taking it in hand and turning back to Estel.

“Please,” Legolas said, “take it.”

Estel’s eyes widened, “I could not,” he spluttered, “it is your most beloved bow.”

Legolas smiled, “Yes,” he said, “it was my first,” he gestured to Estel’s, “and now I wish for you to have it.”

Estel still looked hesitant. 

“At least till you learn how to make a proper bow,” Legolas teased.

Estel let out a laugh; he knew his bow wasn’t the best but he also knew that even if he made a better one Legolas would refuse to take back his beautiful bow. The boy finally took the offered weapon, and promised himself that he would not disappoint Legolas next time.

The rest of Estel’s stay in Mirkwood forest was interesting and fun by Legolas’ side, but the boy could not rid his mind of a strange feeling which had grown in his chest, and which accompanied thoughts of the incident with Legolas and his bow. 

\--  
 **Blue print for Dictionary below:  
 **Sindarin** /Quenya – Translation - _Literal Meaning_**

 ** **In order of first appearance to last:****  
 **Gwannas lû and, mellon nîn** – A long time has passed, my friend – _It has been too long, my friend_  
 **Gi suilon** – Hello – _I greet you_  
 **Non dhínen** – Shh/don’t talk like that – _Be silent_  
 **Davo eithad anech** – Let me help you – _Allow assistance for yourself_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really enjoyed writing this chapter. I hope you liked it. Any ideas on what you think's going to happen next? I'd love to hear theories!
> 
> Also what do people think of my Sindarin translations? Is that annoying/fine as it is/could be done better? Any ideas?


	5. In Dreaming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Estel cannot rid his mind of the strange feelings growing in his heart and mind. His feelings towards Legolas have become confusing and his dreams have grown strange. Estel can’t help feeling that something big is looming on the horizon, though how close it may be, he is unsure.

Estel could hear Elrond calling for him from where he sat. The elf Lord, years ago, as if on a whim, had decided to begin teaching Estel of the world. The lessons were long, tiring and compulsory, and Estel found that he’d rather spend his time drawing or practicing with his sword and Legolas’ bow.

He still saw that beautiful weapon as belonging to Legolas, though it had been in his company now for just over two years. He had practiced long and often with that bow. Surprisingly, or rather unsurprisingly considering its owner, the bow performed better than his previous one, and he hardly had to concentrate at all. 

When Estel used it he felt an echo of what he’d experienced with Legolas. At first he had thought it was just the memory of the feeling but soon he began to realise that he was feeling it all by himself. 

It was as if there was a natural link between the Earth and its creatures; but he, like many other mortals, had been ignorant towards its existence. It was as if Legolas had taken his hand and shown him where that link started, and where it ran, and now he could find it and follow it without the elf’s help. Each day he used the bow the link seemed to grow stronger, and soon he no longer needed the weapon to feel that connection. He could press his ear to the ground, and feel himself ebb into the forest floor itself, becoming one with the ripples of the footfalls of creature’s big and small, and know exactly where a tree’s roots began and stopped, imbedded deep within the soil.

Before the experience Estel had often thought little of the forest and world around him. He took it for granted having always had a canopy of leaves above his head, and a river near, brimming with fish, and trees all around him, tilting with the weight of their sweet and ripened fruit. Now he no longer felt as small, as dependent, and he could see farther and understand more. A door had been opened, both in his mind and in his heart.

He knew what he wanted, and that was to protect the land, and he knew who he wanted, and that was Legolas Greenleaf. Whatever had happened that day on the balcony, it had changed something in the way Estel viewed Legolas, and the longer he thought about the elf, the more confusing his thoughts became. At first he’d thought it friendship, hero-worship at the worst, but his dreams slowly grew more vivid and stranger as the years passed.

But that wasn’t all that was on his mind, no. After that day with Legolas, the world around him seemed so much more important somehow. He sometimes felt as if the land spoke to him, as if he was meant for something more important, something he knew not. When Elrohir and Elladan took him out to train he always wanted to go farther and see more but he was never allowed. The two elves taught him to track footprints and to distinguish the different sounds of birds and small animals.

He didn’t mind those kind of lessons, it was Elrond’s long lectured tales of the mysterious men of the west, and the origins of the world. He did not care for knowledge like the elves; he cared for action. He constantly felt an anxiety grow; he could feel it in his bones, an unrest, which left neither his waking nor sleeping self.

So when he could he hid away, climbing a tree, as the twins had taught him. He’d sit on one of its branches, swinging his legs back and forth as he thought, or drew in his little book. He often drew; the act seemed to satisfy his need for adventure to some extent. He drew many things: trees, flowers, birds and every day objects.

However, he also drew the things from his dreams. When he dreamt, he dreamt of dark mountains and ancient statues, of long ago battles between elves, men and orcs. He once saw a dying tree in a courtyard of stone, and a man made of black ash with fire for eyes. However the dream he had most often was of a solitary white tower rooted upon a desolate landscape, and atop that tower was a flickering white flame, and suspended within that flame was a glittering sword, shattered in two.

Estel had let Elrond call for him, ignoring the deep voice, which carried on the wind effortlessly. Soon the Lord would give up and seek his mother for help. Estel always came when his mother called, for she was often bed ridden or weak. But when Elrond’s calls died away and the expected frail call of his mother never came, Estel sat straighter and listened more closely. It was then that a voice, which he’d not heard for years, sounded below him.

“Estel!” Legolas called.

Estel lent forwards, seeing the elf looking about, below him.

“Up here!” he called.

Legolas looked up and smiled, before climbing the tree easily and swiftly, far more quickly and with far less concentration than Estel had. When the elf reached the branch the dark haired mortal sat upon he smiled once again.

“You’ve grown,” he noted.

Estel nodded and smiled, “As tall as you now, I think.”

Legolas let out a small laugh, before looking back at the ground below, “Elrond only wishes to help-” he began.

Estel rolled his eyes, “He might, but his lessons are long and never ending, I do not care for the history of the world,” he told his friend, “I’d much prefer to see it.”

“That you may,” Legolas answered, “but it is all for an end purpose, trust me when I say these lesson are of great importance.”

Estel sighed and looked toward the far wall, which ran around Imladris, “I feel as if this place is my prison,” he admitted, “What importance must Lord Elrond’s teachings have if I am not allowed to know the reason behind them?”

Legolas placed a slender hand upon Estel’s knee, “I’m sure all will be explained in due course,” he said, “but for now you must listen to your elders and trust that they know what is best for you.”

Estel pulled his knees up to his chest; Legolas had always been on Estel’s side and now that he was not, it both angered and saddened him. Legolas’ frowned at the rejection of his reassuring touch, and sat back in thought.

“Have you done much, while I’ve been away?” he asked.

Estel only shrugged in response and Legolas’ frown deepened. His friend was no longer a boy. He’d changed immensely since last they’d seen each other. Perhaps the short periods in-between their meetings were not as short as Legolas had once thought.

“I’m sorry that we do not see much of each other,” he said, “I often forget you are mortal and that time passes differently for you.”

Estel didn’t answer and Legolas sighed.

“You truly are my best friend, Estel,” he told him, “I hope you know that if anything were to happen to you I...” he trailed off, “I’d be beyond sorrow.”

Estel finally turned to him but didn’t look up as he gave a small smile, “I know,” he said.

Legolas smiled once again, “I’m sorry that you feel like you do,” he continued, “perhaps...I could speak with Elrond about shortening the lessons, or about giving you free time for your own activities.”

Estel met Legolas’ eyes, “Would you?” he asked.

Legolas nodded, “Of course.”

Estel smiled, “thank you,” he said. He should not have doubted their friendship. 

“Now tell me,” Legolas said, edging closer to the teenager, “what have you been doing while I’ve been away?”

Estel stiffened; He was overly aware of how Legolas’ shoulder now lent against his. He recovered quickly and shrugged, hoping Legolas hadn’t noticed his nervousness. 

“I’ve been practicing with your bow, and my sword,” he said, “and Elrohir and Elladan have taken me out for lessons in tracking and foraging,” he then gripped the book, he held, closer to his chest and added, “and...I’ve been drawing.”

Legolas raised an eyebrow, “Oh?” he asked, “May I see?”

Estel shook his head, “No, they’re not any good,” he assured the elf quickly.

“Oh come now,” the elf told him, tilting his head.

A few strands of Legolas’ hair brushed the teenager’s arm and Estel had to bite the inside of his cheek and try to think of anything but running his hands through that hair.

“You can look upon it as a thank you toward my offering to talk with Elrond,” Legolas teased, before becoming serious, “though I did not expect anything in return when I offered.”

Estel shook his head, “No, no,” he said, “I realised,” he then paused, and remembered Legolas’ bow, and all those times Legolas had come to him for help. He just couldn’t let the elf see his drawings, though. He had never shown anyone them, he was fearful that he wasn’t as good as they thought he was, and he was worried about how Legolas would react to the contents of the books pages.

Legolas ‘hmm’ed before seeming to perk up, “I know this is an intrusion into your personal thoughts, so in return I offer you whatever service or object, I have in my power to give.”

Estel froze at that and thought over the possibility of those words. He would have thrust the book at Legolas if he were given permission to run his hands through the elf’s fair hair, or to cup his pale cheek and press his lips against his. But he knew none of that was on the table, and so he reprimanded himself for his thoughts, before slowly handing the book over to his friend.

Legolas flicked through the pages, pausing every now and then, “These are very good,” he said, truthfully, astonished at the skill Estel had. Legolas had not known the boy liked to draw, though that could mean little seeing as they had not seen each other for two years.

Estel looked away, waiting anxiously for when Legolas reached ‘The’ section he most dreaded. The ‘svfit, svfit’ sound of the turning pages suddenly stopped altogether, and Estel dared not turn around to see Legolas’ expression. The pages began turning again, though this time far more slowly.

Legolas’ heart grew cold as he looked over the images in Estel’s book. He had always known that the Dúnedain heritage might creep back into his friend’s mind but this was beyond anything he could have foreseen. There were drawings of objects and places, and people and creatures, which were so akin to the real things that Estel could only have drawn them having seen them himself. But Legolas knew that that was impossible.

“Where have you seen these?” Legolas asked, hoping that his friend had a logical explanation.

Estel paused, feeling a dread seep into his heart. Legolas would probably think he was a freak if he were to tell him of his dreams. What would happen to their friendship then? “I...” he felt dizzy, “I see them in my dreams,” he finally finished.

“Have you told Elrond about this?” Legolas asked.

“No,” Estel closed his eyes and waited for Legolas to excuse himself, or ask to leave but it never came. Instead there was silence, and then just as Estel’s eyes began to sting with fearful anxiety he felt a hand on both of his shoulders.

He opened his eyes, blinking away the wetness to see that Legolas had moved to kneel in front of him, “Do not fear,” he said, reassuringly, “I do not think ill of you.”

The elf wiped a thumb across Estel’s cheek, catching a tear which had fallen. Estel could not respond, a large bubble had formed in his throat and refused to dislodge itself, so instead he stared into Legolas’ blue eyes.

“You are unique,” Legolas said, “and there is nothing wrong with that. There are many things yet to be explained to you, think of this as one of them.”

Estel swallowed and gave a small nod, his dark curls bobbing with the motion. Legolas could only hope that what he told his friend was the truth. The elf then lent forward and pull his friend into a hug. 

“I’ll always be beside you, mellon nîn,” Legolas said, and that he meant. Whether the time of war came or not, he would be there, equipped with bow and daggers, ready to lay his life down for his friend.

Estel held Legolas back, and hoped against all hopes, that his dreams were nothing but a strange coincidence. Deep down he knew they were more; but for now? For now it was easier to forget them. Legolas let him go and sat back. Estel wiped his eyes and smiled apologetically.

Legolas smiled, “Now what would you like in return for letting me see this book?” he asked.

Estel blushed and bit his lip, tilting his head so that his long hair hid his face, “W-Would you let me draw you?” he muttered, unsurely.

Legolas laughed, “I’d be honoured,” he said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In Tolkien’s books there are many allusions to religion and prophecy and so I wished to convey something like that within this chapter, though it’s more like a mild version of ‘the chosen one’ has come, if you understand what I mean. 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed the chapter, please leave a comment!


	6. The Mirkwood Ball

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Legolas was waiting eagerly in the treetops overlooking the pathway into his father’s kingdom. Three long years had passed since he’d last seen Estel. But this evening was a special occasion, one which occurred only once every few hundred years. It was the night of the Mirkwood Ball. Legolas had lived through a couple of them, and never tired of them.

Legolas was waiting eagerly in the treetops overlooking the pathway into his father’s kingdom. Three long years had passed since he’d last seen Estel, though the two had begun conversing through a series of letters, which had seemed to ease the strangeness that they had felt between them during their last meeting.

Their letters were often long winded and filled with the strangest of conversations. Estel sometimes complained about his schoolwork and Legolas comforted him, explaining and re-explaining certain aspects of it, and sometimes Estel would ask for advice and Legolas would give it as best he could.

But this evening was a special occasion, one which occurred only once every few hundred years. It was the night of the Mirkwood Ball. Legolas had lived through a couple of them, and never tired of them. It called on all elves and elven friends and was a merry occasion. There were always feasts and fireworks of the best kind – Gandalf the Grey’s kind -, and the music was endless and beautiful, and any ills or sadness were forgotten in the charade of elven laughter and song. Yes, it was a merry, merry occasion.

It was also customary for elves to choose a partner. Legolas had decided to go with a friendly female elf he’d met a couple of weeks ago. Though, she was young and he knew she’d only want his hand for the beginning and end dance. That left him to spend the rest of the night with his friends, and he liked it that way. 

A horn sounded and Legolas peered down into the glade eagerly from atop his perch. Elrond rode out front as always, astride a white stead, and his sons, Elladan and Elrohir, rode beside him, upon their grey. Legolas’ keen eyes found Estel the minute he came into the clearing, and his whole being seemed to brighten at the sight. Estel was the only rider upon a brown horse, and he rode it proudly. 

Legolas could see Estel’s fondness for the creature in the way he held his shoulders and head. It was different to those who sat equally proud beside him. Their pride was royal, reserved for themselves, while Estel’s was all focused on his beautiful horse.

Estel had grown even more since they’d last seen each other. He was taller and lithe, yet still muscular where he ought to be. His hair had lost its winglets and sharp curls and was now filled with lazy waves. He had started off as a cherubic-faced child and grown into a handsome strong man. Legolas would not be surprised if Estel already had elven women falling at his feet.

The riders rode through into the courtyard, and Legolas jumped from branch to branch before landing in a crouch. A few horses neighed in surprise. Estel, having seen Legolas, at once swung his leg over his horse and stepped down, walking swiftly to meet his friend. They embraced in a strong hug, pulling back with their hands still upon each other’s opposite shoulder.

“Mellon nîn,” Estel smiled, “how are you?”

Legolas smiled back, “As well as ever,” he said, before tilting his head and noticing with astonishment that Estel was now taller than him.

Estel smirked as he realised his friend’s dismay, “I believe that is as tall as I’ll be getting,” he paused, dropping his arm to his side, “though it is good to see I won’t have to look up to talk with you anymore.”

Legolas laughed, “Uh well,” he said, “it can’t be helped, at least we look of similar age now.”

Estel grinned, “Can’t call me ‘young one’ anymore?” he asked.

“Sadly no,” the elf responded, turning and leading Estel away.

Estel’s horse was already looked after. It seemed quite at home in the palace of Thranduil, though that didn’t stop it from giving its helpers incredible strife. It seemed to revel in creating as much discomfort as possible to anyone but Estel. It was no wonder the horse had grown smitten with its rider; they were so alike.

Legolas led Estel to his chambers, where his luggage had already been placed. The room was simple, and consisted of a bed, tabletop, basin and changing screen. Estel set about unpacking his gear, and Legolas kept him company, talking of his travels and his duties.

Even though Estel longed to travel, his need for it had lessened to a dull ache. His adventures now existed only in his dreams and, hopefully, in his future; and for now he was content with that. Listening to Legolas’ adventures and travels excited him more than any he could come up with for himself, anyway. But the conversation, as Estel had expected, finally turned to the evening’s event.

“Have you picked out an outfit?” asked Legolas, sitting upon the edge of Estel’s bed and leaning backwards slightly to catch the dark haired man’s attention.

Estel had been invited, and any excuse to visit Legolas was impossible to refuse but the ball...the ball had been an event he’d long dreaded. All elves were expected to pick a partner, and as he was of Elrond’s house, despite the fact his origins were mortal, he was expected to do the same. However, it was even worse than that. Because he was a guest in Thranduil’s palace and the youngest of the guests, he along with his partner were expected to have the first dance. Estel did not have a partner.

“I...” he paused, “I didn’t really think about it,” he said, “I have something but it’s not...” he trailed off.

“Estel,” Legolas shook his head in mock disapproval, before he stood, “I’ll be right back,” he said before quickly leaving.

Estel frowned, but continued unpacking. He had no idea what he was going to do about his partner. He guessed he could ask any female elf; surely there’d be someone he could ask. Estel sighed, remembering all those years of whispered insults and odd questions; no elf in their right mind would want to go with him to the ball, not if they didn’t want to suffer countless years of mockery. The only elf whom Estel wished to ask to the ball was Legolas, but that would require all kinds of uncomfortable explanations and conversations he didn’t wish to have. 

At that moment Legolas returned, snapping Estel out of his reverie. The blond elf carried in his arms a folded garment. The mortal felt his cheeks flush with embarrassment; he already knew that the elf intended him to wear the attire.

Legolas held it out, “I had it especially made,” he said, “I knew you’d forget or not be bothered to dress up,” he continued as Estel took the garment, “you’d rather stay in your tracking gear all day and night if you could.”

 _It’s all I’m worthy of_ , Estel thought to himself as he fingered the magnificently soft material.

“You shouldn’t have done this,” he said, before taking the garment behind the changing screen. He knew Legolas would not let him do anything until he changed into it. _Stubborn elf._

Estel dressed quickly, though carefully, smoothing down the outfit once it was on. He looked down at himself and was surprised to find that he liked the outfit. There were essentially three pieces to it: the leggings, undershirt and tunic. The leggings were near black in colour and were made of a stretchy comfortable material. The long sleeved undershirt was a pale dark blue and felt cool against his skin, like the material was barely there. But the tunic was what brought the whole outfit together. Delicate stiches lined the collar and front of the deep-blue velvet tunic, traveling all the way down to where the garment stopped at his mid-thigh. 

He’d never looked as princely as he did in that moment. As soon as the thought was in his head he loathed the outfit. But the thought of Legolas spending his time organising such a thing pushed some of that hate further back into his mind until it became a dull discomfort.

He stepped out to present himself to Legolas who smiled widely, “It suits you,” he said happily, “you look very handsome.”

Estel’s heart fluttered at the statement. You do too. 

“I should change,” Legolas said.

Estel nodded, and the two left for his chambers. Legolas’ chambers were just as boring as the spare one Estel was staying in. All that was there, which might give a hint that someone actually lived there, was the work desk covered in wood filings, varnish and cleaning materials for Legolas’ bows.

The elf spent little time in his own room, preferring to sleep outdoors atop the palace’s rooftop or high up in the nook of a tree. Estel, himself, had tried that once, but Elrond found him there, and gave him a stern talking to. Now that he looked back on it, it did make sense. He was young and foolish and could easily have fallen from the tree.

Legolas went to change and Estel turned his back, despite the fact the elf was completely concealed by his own changing screen. Legolas talked non-stop about the amazing things Estel would supposedly see that night, and Estel would be lying if his heart didn’t skip just a little bit faster when he heard some of the entertainment plans. But then, just as Estel knew he would, Legolas finally fell upon the dreaded subject.

“Who have you asked to the dance?” he asked.

Estel took a deep breath, _just lie to him,_ he told himself, _it’d be the easiest thing to do. But then how would I explain my partner’s absence at the dance?_ Estel sighed and was just about to speak when Legolas’ voice spoke clearly from in front of the screen.

“What do you think?” he asked.

Estel turned to him and his breath hitched. The elf wore a similar garment to his, but it seemed to glow with a radiance, which no other creature could possibly create. His leggings were white, and his tunic was made a fine silver material unknown to him. Unlike Estel’s tunic, Legolas’ was long sleeved, and it hugged at his lithe arms. A golden thread, which seemed to glitter in the light, weaved a vine-like pattern around his wrists and along the hem of his tunic and collar. Legolas looked absolutely beautiful.

“Ci bain in elin.” (you are as beautiful as the stars)

Legolas’ eyes widened suddenly and Estel realised he had said the words aloud. He was just about to apologise and say something about the compliment being a slip of the tongue but the surprise in Legolas’ eyes disappeared as quickly as it had appeared, only to be replaced with amusement. 

“I believe, mellon nîn, that that should be reserved for your partner,” he laughed, “we would not want a jealous she-elf forever on your tails.”

It took a little while for Estel to register that Legolas had taken his statement as a joke. He forced out a laugh, and patted his friend’s shoulder, “Of course not-” he said. _Change the subject quickly before he re-evaluates the situation._

“-if I had a partner to take,” he added. 

_Stupid! Stupid, why did I say that!? Now he’ll feel sympathetic for me and badger me, and ask why I didn’t ask this elf or that. Stupid! At least he won’t think about my earlier words. But still, stupid, stupid, stupid!_

Legolas frowned and tilted his head, “You do not have anyone to take?” he asked.

Estel shrugged and gave a smile, “I don’t mind,” he said.

“Have you not asked anyone?”

Estel snorted, and turned away in embarrassment, “Who would want to go with me,” he said.

“Why wouldn’t they?” Legolas asked in honest confusion.

Estel smiled at his friend’s obliviousness and turned back to him, “Legolas,” he said, “I am a mortal and your people are...” he paused, lost for words, “are amazing, immortal, dazzling creatures filled with wisdom. I am but a tiny dirty creature, under your wing in one moment and buried under the earth the next,” he said, “Why would anyone care about an insignificant creature like that?”

Legolas’ expression of confusion fell away only to be replaced by one Estel had never seen upon his friend. It was anger. The elf’s blue eyes turned an ice-blue, and his whole form seemed to begin to glow. A light grew from him as if his full power was escaping from its humanoid confines.s

“Daro! Lasto nin Gi fuion! (Stop that! I am disgusted with you.)” Legolas spoke harshly, his voice coming out in a cold whisper, “You think you are below us? You think you are unworthy of our friendship? Of mine?” he demanded, “I naw nîn û ben naw gîn! (I disagree!)” he shouted, before drawing back and calming himself with a deep breath. “Ni ú-firen. Ni edhel. But... (I’m not mortal. I’m an elf. But...)” he added, “Ci vellon nîn n'uir. (you will, forever, be my friend.)”

Estel’s throat clogged and he felt himself shrink back in shame. He couldn’t help feeling unwanted and unloved. But he’d upset his friend and he’d never intended that to happen.

Legolas stepped forward and pulled Estel into a hug, “Goheno nin, mellon nîn (forgive me, my friend).”

Estel let Legolas embrace him, and rested his chin upon the elf’s shoulder, struggling to keep his emotions from showing themselves.  
“Ú-moe edaved, Legolas (There is nothing to forgive),” Estel muttered, “Goheno nin (forgive me).”

Legolas didn’t answer, but instead held Estel closer. They stood like that for sometime before they let each other go. They continued their small talk, and completely disregarded the earlier upsetting conversation. When it was time they left Legolas’ room and made their way to where the ball would be held. 

Despite everything the ball wasn’t as dreadful as Estel had first thought it would be. Legolas explained to Elrond and Thranduil about Estel’s discomfort with dancing in front of everyone else and they were surprisingly, understanding, however there was one condition, Estel was expected to dance with any elf who asked him. But seeing as that was an unlikely situation Estel had not minded agreeing.

The night was bright with laughter and light, candles hung from the tree branches and the canopy above glowed with natural florescence. The elves danced and sang, and Estel found himself being included more and more in their merry-making. Legolas and he talked, drank and ate and they were not separated from each other’s side once.

Estel was seated beside Legolas, debating whether or not any elves would drink enough that night to become tipsy, when a slender hand tapped at his shoulder. He turned to see Elladan and Elrohir, dressed in garbs of fine purple and blue silks. 

Estel stood to greet them, “Tolo, govano ven (come join us)!” he said, gesturing to the table he and Legolas were sitting at.

“Ci vilui (thank you),” Elladan replied.

“But we must continue to socialize,” Elrohir added, “we only wished to introduce you to someone.”

Estel raised an eyebrow and Legolas stood beside him nodding respectfully at the twins in greeting.

Elladan then smiled and turned to gesture behind him, “Se muinthelig, i eneth vîn Arwen (This is our sister, Arwen).”

Estel had heard many stories of the lady Arwen, the fair and beautiful, the Evenstar of Middle Earth. Estel had never believed the stories of her beauty were true but with his gaze now locked on her blue eyes he could not find any fault in their description. Arwen’s skin glowed with life and beauty. A small silver crown sat resting upon her forehead. Her dark wavy hair was long and met her bust. She wore a long pale purple gown, to match her brother’s outfits, but its material seemed to surpass theirs in beauty by far. The twins said their farewells but Estel was so struck dumb, he hardly noticed. Legolas retreated slightly, but stayed within earshot, smiling to himself. 

Estel finally shook himself and spoke quickly, “Ni veren an gi ngovaned, I eneth nîn,” he greeted her politely, “Hiril vuin,” and he gave a small bow. (I am pleased to meet you, my lady)

Arwen smiled, “Likewise, Estel,” she replied, giving a small curtsy.

Estel swallowed, he did not know what more to say. His mind reeled... _She’s beautiful,_ he thought, _I’d very much like to ask her to dance with me but she’ll likely say no and...oh...I’m staring, I should leave, I should excuse myself._  
“B-Boe i 'waen (I-I must go),” he stuttered, turning to walk away.

“Would you not dance with me?”

Estel stopped in his tracks and turned back to the Lady Arwen. She didn’t seem to mind that he was mortal, or that he was but a child to her. She didn’t even seem to mind his rude and informal attempt at a departure.

“Yes,” he said, looking down, “Please. If you’d like,” he muttered. 

She took Estel’s hand in hers and he met her gaze as she smiled, “Av-'osto (don’t be afraid),” she said softly.

Legolas watched the two dance. Estel blushed and stumbled, while the Lady Arwen was as graceful as ever, but as the song progressed Estel became more bold, holding the Lady’s hand with a firmer, yet still soft, grip and even daring a smile or comment. The song ended and another began, and the two continued as if they had not noticed it end. The night progressed but still Estel and Arwen did not leave each other’s side. 

Legolas began to feel something akin to jealousy stir in his stomach as he watched the two laugh, and he found himself wanting nothing more than to walk over to the couple and take Arwen’s place. The thought shocked the elf, for he’d never thought such a thing before. _Lady Arwen is a beautiful elf and Estel is a handsome human. If they find more than friendship, should I not feel happiness for them? Why then do I feel this jealousy? She would not hinder our friendship?_

His confusion soon began to darken his thoughts, and so he finished his cup of golden liquor and poured something a little stronger. If Estel won the debate on whether or not any elves drank enough that night to become tipsy, he did not brag about it to Legolas the next morning when the elf was unable to leave his quarters.

\--  
 **Blue print for Dictionary below:  
 **Sindarin** /Quenya – Translation - _Literal Meaning_**

 ** **In order of first appearance to last.****  
 **Mellon nîn** – My friend – _My friend_  
 **Daro** – Stop that – _Stop_  
 **Lasto nin Gi fuion** – I am disgusted with you – _I am disgusted with you_  
 **I naw nîn û ben naw gîn** – I disagree – _I do not agree with your line of thought._  
 **Ni ú-firen** – I am not human/mortal – _I am not mortal_  
 **Ni edhel** – I am an elf – _I am an elf_  
 **Ci vellon nîn n'uir** – You will, forever, be my friend – _You will be my friend, forever_  
 **Goheno nin, mellon nîn** – Forgive me, my friend – _Forgive me, my friend_  
 **Ú-moe edaved** – There is nothing to forgive – _There is nothing to forgive_  
 **Tolo, govano ven** – Come join us – _Come join us_  
 **Ci vilui** – Thank you – _You are kind_  
 **Se muinthelig, i eneth vîn Arwen** – This is our sister, Arwen – _This is our sister, her name is Arwen_  
 **Ni veren an gi ngovaned, I eneth nîn** – I am pleased to meet you – _I am happy to meet you_  
 **Hiril vuin** – My lady – _My lady_  
 **Boe i 'waen** – I must go – _I must take leave quickly_  
 **Av-'osto** – Don’t be afraid – _Don’t fear_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My year 12 Ball was a week ago so I wrote this having been in that state of mind all week. Estel's ball, however, didn't go exactly as planned as you can see. Also...I wonder if Legolas might be unintentionallly harbouring feelings for our favourite mortal. ;D I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Please leave a comment!


	7. Revelations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (I am so sorry for the long wait)
> 
> Everyone comes of age, for some it's a big celebration, for others it's a death sentence. Some wait their young lives in eager anticipation, others lose sleep just by thinking of it. Some see it as nothing more than being another year older...but it is those young adults whom fate often chooses to toy with.

_“There is a land to the west, between Aman, the Undying Lands, and Endor, Middle Earth; it was brought from out of the sea as a gift to man from the elves. It was called Númenor, and those who occupied it called themselves the Númenoreans. They were a great people and their life on Númenor was blissfully peaceful. Their lives were long, three times that of normal man, and their Kingdom was mighty._

_While they were a happy people, some, including the king, began to greed for more. Aman was forever on the horizon and the king of Númenor desired to land upon its shores of immortality. The Númenoreans sent ships to search for Aman but the elves kept the land hidden, for they believed that immortality was only meant for a select few._

_In the end it was their greed which destroyed them. Those who had remained faithful to the elves foresaw the fall of Númenor and managed to escape. The rest were less fortunate. Nature, it seemed, had seen the people’s fault, and took it as its responsibility to cleanse the land, and so the sea engulfed the island and Númenor was never seen again...”_

Estel listened intently to Elrond. The elf spoke quietly but his voice was confident and mesmerizing. He talked for hours but Estel was so enthralled that he didn’t notice. Elrond’s lessons were often long and boring but on rare occasions the elf lord would revert to storytelling and that was by far the best of his lessons. 

“The Faithful Númenoreans went on then to found the Kingdoms of Arnor and Gondor,” Elrond continued, pointing to two places upon a tapestry of Endor behind him, “and the rest roamed the land far and wide, protecting those who needed their protection.” He turned back to Estel and clasped his hands together; it was one of his habits, “They renamed themselves the Dúnedain and spent many a year attempting to repair the damage their race had wrought. However they were not free from enemies, and so they were struck down, captured, tortured and slain. The Dúnedain numbers began to dwindle and they disappeared from the kingdoms of Arnor and Gondor.”

Estel imaged what the land must have looked like back then, what the people looked like, what they wore. He had already glimpsed similar things in his dreams, and often Elrond’s stories would join those dreams together so that several nights of dreaming would become a picture book in Estel’s mind. 

“Those who were left lived in the wilderness under the name of Ranger of the North. However the wilderness was and is a dangerous place and so, now and then,” Elrond paused, seemingly without purpose, and then continued, “the Dúnedain called upon me for the protection of their young, especially the Chieftain’s children,” he stared intently at Estel, “for they were of royal blood and would one day inherit the throne of Gondor.”

Then Elrond’s tone and posture changed, he became rather skittish, if you could ever describe the Elf Lord that way, and paced backwards and forwards slowly, stopping only to stare at Estel with a begging look. Estel felt dizzy with Elrond’s pacing and closed his eyes.,

“There was once a young chieftain who had a beautiful wife and son,” Elrond paused, as if considering whether he should or shouldn’t continue, “However fate was not upon their side for when the boy was but two years old the enemy attacked,” he paused again, “many died defending their loved ones, including the chieftain who heroically fought to the very last.”

Through closed eyes, Estel saw in his mind a far away land, and a strong, tall man fighting for it. The image was extremely vivid, though the man’s face was hazy, and his eyes and mouth were only dark blurs upon a pink-brown face. He saw that man swing back and forth a sword with a broken tip, cutting and slicing, slaying each of his enemies in a single swipe. But the man was angry for his people’s losses and he was tiring and fighting without thought.

An orc stepped upon a ridge in the dirt, and lifted his bow, drawing an arrow across the bowstring. The man did not see this, he had finished his enemies and was exhausted beyond measure. The orc drew the arrow back and fired. Estel squeezed his eyes shut, as if in physical pain, and tensed involuntarily in his seat. 

Elrond then spoke again, and the elf’s voice drew Estel back to the world. The young man blinked and shook his head, trying to rid his mind of the ugly thought- _Had it been a thought? It could not have been a memory surely...and yet..._ Estel suddenly realised where he had seen those images, all of this had been in his dreams; every single thing Elrond had told him.

“...His wife took the child and fled,” Elrond continued. 

Estel frowned and looked up, his mind was hazy but something else, something was appearing out of the fog in his head.

“...They traveled a long and dangerous journey but they arrived safely in Imladris, where they still remain today.”

Estel’s frown deepened. _Why hadn’t I seen them? Why had Elrond not mentioned anything to me before?_ A dread began to fill the young man’s heart, and the image in his mind sharpened. A young boy, of the age of two, with piercing grey eyes, and curly brown hair, which would one day become near-black. A hand rested upon that shoulder but the owner of it was still encompassed in fog.

Estel was afraid to ask but nonetheless the words were forming in his mouth whether he wanted them to or not, “Where is the child now?”

Elrond stared at the young man solemnly, “Sitting before me.”

Estel’s mind seemed to freeze in place. Everything suddenly made sense. He’d not been told anything about his arrival in Imladris or what had happened to his father. His mother was always deeply saddened by his questions of their past. The dreams he had, so similar to that of the predictions of his ancestors. _Ancestors...? The Númenoreans, the Dúnedain, my heritage. My father, he...he died protecting me and his people. He was Chieftain...and I am his son, the heir..._ Estel felt like he was going to be sick. Images and thoughts flew and twirled in his mind, demanding to be seen and heard and understood. He was bombarded with emotions and questions. 

_Should I be glad? Should I mourn my father? I don’t even know his name?_ He shook his head in anger. _If what Elrond says is true, then, everything I’ve believed in is false._ All he wanted to do was run from it all, escape and disappear, and continue to be someone without the burden of a heritage he did not want. He felt like a child standing in the shadow of expectation, he could never be like that man, who he now knew was his father.

“You lied to me,” he muttered, his head bowed, “My whole my life.”

“It was for your own protection,” Elrond replied.

Estel clenched his fists in anger, “Whenever I asked about my father all you and my mother ever said was that he loved me...” he paused, seething, “This is what all the training was for!” he suddenly realised, “All the lessons in Arda’s history, all the sword, bow, scout and tracking practice? It was all a lie?” he asked angrily, “My whole childhood was just a big plan to ready me for this...for this fate...this destiny.” He stood, “Well I don’t want it! I don’t want to be of the Dúnedain or of royal blood, I don’t want that responsibility!” 

He needed to get out, he felt like he was going to be sick. Estel turned and ran, hardly watching where he was going. He bumped into someone, shoving them out of his way in his hurry. He saw a glimpse of blond hair and familiar features but thoughts of betrayal and lies filled his mind and he continued on. 

“Estel!” Legolas called after him but he had already disappeared down the hall. The elf at first hadn’t recognised the man. He had grown stocky and his dark hair was longer and less wavy than before. He had called out to him, and yet Estel had not answered or stopped. Legolas had also noticed that Estel had been upset and angry. He hoped that it was not for the reason he thought it might be. 

He sought out the young man, and was not surprised to find him upon a branch of the tree he often went to seek out solitude. Legolas climbed the tree quietly and sat beside Estel, who had his knees drawn up to his chest, an obvious sign of his emotional discomfort.

“Boe gin eithad? (Are you alright?)” Legolas asked in worry.

Estel didn’t answer.

“Estel, what’s wrong?”

The young man finally looked up, his face was solemn and his eyes were a stormy grey, “Elrond...” he said slowly, “told me of my heritage,” he turned to Legolas, “did you know?”

Legolas frowned but didn’t answer, and moved forward to place a reassuring hand upon his friend’s shoulder but Estel moved away from him, “You knew, and didn’t say anything?” he asked angrily.

“I knew,” Legolas responded quietly, “If we had not kept it a secret the enemy might have found you,” Legolas told him, “Elrond has probably already told you this, but you must understand that neither your mother, him or I ever wanted you to feel any kind of sadness or pain,” Estel looked away, his mouth set in a hard line, “it was something we had to do.”

“And none of you could have told me before now?” Estel demanded, “I’m twenty-one-years-old for Eru’s sake, at ten you could have told me anything and I would have taken it to my grave, especially as it was to protect my mother and I,” he leant forwards, his features dark and angry, “Do you really think that I would ever put my mother and myself in danger like that?”

Legolas remained calm and complacent as Estel shouted at him, “No, none of us ever thought you would,” he said when Estel had finished and was seated once more, “but there was always a chance that you would ask your mother, Elrond or I something and others would be listening,” Legolas moved to sit beside Estel, so that their shoulders touched, “There has always been the possibility of spies in Imladris, or elves who would be tricked into divulging information. We could never be too careful.”

Estel could see the logic in that, though he wished he didn’t. He wanted to be angry at Legolas, at his mother and Elrond, but he knew deep down that all they wished to do was protect him.

“Just know that ci vellon nîn n'uir, Aragorn (you will, forever, be my friend, Aragorn),” Legolas told him, placing a hand on the man’s knee.

Estel turned to him, his features softening, “Aragorn?” he asked, “Is that my real name?”

Legolas looked slightly taken aback, “Did Elrond not tell you?” he asked.

Estel looked down, “I didn’t really give him a chance,” he admitted. He paused frowning, “Aragorn,” he muttered to himself.

“You should talk to Elrond,” Legolas told him.

Estel frowned, “I don’t really want to,” he said, “I’d rather you told me more.”

“I don’t know how much I should say,” Legolas admitted.

Estel snorted, “I think I’m entitled to everything right now if I wished it.”

Legolas didn’t answer, but the elf agreed with him. Then after a while the elf sighed, “You’re strong and intelligent and destined for great things, Aragorn.”

Estel winced at the name, “I hardly know who I am.” 

“You are prince Aragorn Elessar, son of Arathorn, heir of Isildur,” Legolas replied.

Estel sighed, “I am Estel, son of Gilrean, friend of Elves, and that is all I’ve ever been.”

“You _are_ Estel,” Legolas said gently, “but you are also Aragorn. You will come to know yourself and your people. Just know that what was done was done for your own good.”

“Aragorn...son of Arathorn...Dúnedain...Númenorean. This is all too much to bare.”

“Then do not bare it alone my friend. If you need council, if you need answers, if you need a shoulder to lean on I will be here. I will be at your side whenever you ask me, whether it be to scout, talk or fight.”

Estel turned to Legolas and found sincerity in the elf’s eyes. Legolas smiled and Estel smiled back. He appreciated Legolas’ help. The elf had always been there for him, through thick and thin. Sometimes...sometimes he wished they were more. Estel turned away from Legolas, angered with his train of thoughts. _That is never going to happen,_ he told himself, _especially now. Now that I know everything, now that...Arwen...The beautiful lady Arwen loves me, and I, her._

“You are a good friend,” Estel told him, “but I could not hold you to that promise,” and then he lent forward and moved away from Legolas, turning to face him to mask his discomfort at their closeness, “My future looks dark, if it is my future, that I see in my dreams,” he said with dread, “The faithful predicted Númenor’s downfall; is what I see in my dreams, then, a prediction?” he asked.

Legolas frowned but didn’t answer.

“Do not lie to me,” Estel told him, “you owe me this much.”

Legolas looked down sadly, “I never meant to harm our friendship or to upset you,” he said before decided Estel deserved the truth, “Your dreams may be as you say, and they may not. But I know that the things you dream of are real, for I have seen many of them myself.”

Estel nodded, accepting this. He looked across at Imladris’ boundaries, seeing not the possibility of freedom, but the guarantee of constant danger and a life burdened with overwhelming responsibility. He knew that he would have to leave for that world; to meet what was left of his people and to learn of his past and plan for his future. He no longer wanted to leave Imladris, but he knew he had to. He would begin all that tomorrow, but for now…for now he would stay with Legolas, and pretend for one more day that he was only Estel, son of Gilrean, and not Aragorn, son of Arathorn, heir of Isildur. 

Though, the fate of Aragorn haunted his future, like a daunting silhouette on the horizon.

\--  
**Blue print for Dictionary below:  
**Sindarin** /Quenya – Translation - _Literal Meaning_**

 ** **In order of first appearance to last.****  
**Boe gin eithad?** – Are you alright? – _Do you need aid? or Is it necessary to assist you?_  
**Ci vellon nîn n'uir** – You will, forever, be my friend – _You will be my friend, forever_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry for not updating for so long. I've had so much homework, and so many tests. Here's the long awaited chapter, I hope you enjoyed it. Please leave a comment I'd love to know what you think. I'll update as soon as possible!
> 
> Credit for the photos used in this fanfiction goes to Alef, who graciously allowed me to post them in my story. Alef, and their other cosplays - which are brilliant so definitely check them out!! - can be found on [Deviantart](http://the-alef.deviantart.com/) and [Tumblr](http://alef-art.tumblr.com/).


	8. An Errand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aragorn was reading under the alcove when a form loomed over him, obscuring the afternoon sun, with which he was reading by. “Greetings,” a deep voice boomed, “Aragorn son of Arathorn.”
> 
> A seemingly small errand is asked of Aragorn; he is to watch over a little someone. However not even the one who had requested Aragorn's aid truly understands the direness of the situation. (dun dun dun)

Aragorn was reading under the alcove when a form loomed over him, obscuring the afternoon sun, with which he was reading by. 

“Greetings,” a deep voice boomed, “Aragorn son of Arathorn.”

Aragorn looked up from his book to see a tall man with a long grey beard, wearing a matching grey robe, which was dirtied along the edges. He also wore a pointed grey hat upon his head and held a withered tree branch, which was fashioned into a staff. While the man looked elderly, his eyes shone brightly in that way only a young man’s could. 

“I do not suppose you remember me,” the man said, giving a small mysterious smile.

“I do not believe I could forget you even if I wanted to,” Aragorn replied, placing his book down.

The man tilted his head and frowned, “Should I take that as an insult or a compliment?

Aragorn smiled, “Do not take it as either for I meant nothing by it,” he said, standing to meet the man, “I know you by your knack for meddling in innocent people’s affairs, and by your legendary fireworks, which I had chance to witness at the Mirkwood Ball several years ago. However I do also know you by your wisdom, and your kindness to lesser folks, and the protection you give this land.”

The man smiled once again, swapping his staff to the opposite hand, slowly, “It seems you know more of me than I of you, Dúnedain.”

“What is it that you have come to me for, Gandalf the Grey?” Aragorn asked, “I will gladly use my skill for whatever errand you need me to carry out, it is the least I can do in thanks for your unrewarded service.”

Gandalf was surprised by the immediate offer for aid and he hesitated, studying Aragorn closely, before believing that the man looked to be the trustful sort, “Do you know of Hobbits?” he asked.

Aragorn raised an eyebrow, “Indeed I do; I once glimpsed one as a child. I do believe he was with you and the dwarven company all those years ago.”

“You would be correct.” Gandalf nodded. “On the adventure in which this young hobbit took part he found something peculiar, and I have not thought of it as anything but an object misplaced by one and found by another. However it has begun to nag at my attention of late, and...” he paused, looking about for any unwanted onlookers, before leaning closer when he saw none, “I am not so sure that it is as harmless as it looks to be.

Gandalf’s words sparked Aragorn’s interest but he did not satisfy his curiousness by questioning the object’s appearance, and instead asked, “You wish me to watch over the hobbit?”

“I do indeed,” Gandalf said, “just for the time being. I must seek knowledge, and I am anxious to leave the hobbit all alone with the thing if it is indeed as I fear. 

“Where is it that these people live?” Aragorn asked, turning to pick up his book and begin walking down the hall.  

Gandalf followed him, “It is a simple place called the Shire. The people there are welcoming and friendly, however rumours spread quickly, and often become twisted, as they tend to do in a place were excitement is lacking.”

They reached Aragorn’s room. It was neat and elegant, bookcases filled with all kinds of books sat on one side and a simple bed on the other; tapestries of dragons, castles and wars hung upon the walls, and a tall window opened out into an elegant courtyard.

“I am not easily fazed by such things,” Aragorn said, placing his book into a slot upon the bookshelf. 

It was true. He had long ago taught himself to disregard other’s opinions of himself if they were unjust. 

“I may require you to stay there from a year to several.” Gandalf continued, “Though, you would be allowed leave, for I could never ask you to leave your life here behind.”

Aragorn turned back to the wizard. Imladris was indeed his home, though it had lost the shine and beauty it had once held. He was no longer as welcome here as he had been before; certainly not now that his relationship with Elrond had taken a turn for the worst. Their fights had begun soon after he’d been told of his heritage. However in the beginning they had still found peace with each other; Elrond had even, after a while, begun teaching him once more. 

Elrond began planning out Aragorn’s future in front of him; stating that a darkness was rising and that he would be the one to stop it and bring ultimate peace to the land. The elf lord talked of battles and possible wars he’d fight in but it finally became too much for Aragorn. He had never wanted this fate, he’d never dreamt of such a life for himself, and then all of a sudden it was being handed to him. Elrond had even spoke of him having to leave Imladris once more, but this time not to see his fellow Dúnedain; no, this time he would venture out to begin this so called ‘Quest’. He was not ready for it, and that angered Elrond. Leaving Imladris for a small task would be nothing compared to the larger one which he knew he could not evade forever.

“I would gladly give you my services, Gandalf the Grey,” Aragorn told him, pulling out a rucksack and beginning to pack. “If I should feel the need to take leave from my duty it would be for a month or two never more and only when the need for my absence is so great that it cannot be satisfied with anything but,” he then took a couple of books from his shelf and packed those as well.

Again Gandalf was taken aback by the man’s words. The supposedly confused infant had indeed grown to be a loyal and charitable a man as Lord Elrond had said. Gandalf felt strong admiration for the heir of Isildur. 

“You have grown wise in your short years, Aragorn,” he told him, “your father would be proud.”

Aragorn’s packing halted at the words, and he dropped his hands to the bag in displeasure. _’Your father would be proud.’_ He shook his head to himself, _my father would never be proud of me. All those people who could have been saved during this year, while I’ve stood by to scared to act, to scared to take up sword and fight..._

“My father,” Aragorn began, his head bowed in resolute self-loathing, “died, trying to protect our people, and I have remained in hiding while my people are driven to destruction...” he paused, the truth of his next words already weighing upon his heart, “He could never be proud of me for that.”

Aragorn immediately began packing again, as if dismissing the conversation. He ignored Gandalf when the wizard laid a hand upon his shoulder, “You think too little of yourself,” the wizard said, “and too little of your mother. Anirne hene beriad i chên lîn.” (She wanted to protect her child)

“And I do not hold that against her,” Aragorn replied, “But my life means nothing to me. It is but a debt that I must repay to my people and to this world.” Aragorn closed the bag. He’d long ago come to terms with this fact, back when Elrond and his mother Gilrean had first told him of his inheritance.

“My heritage is a dark cloud ever present over my head,” he continued, pulling the bag onto his shoulder, and remaining with his back to Gandalf, “I _will_ fix my ancestors mistakes,” he said in determination, “and if I do not succeed it will be because I have died trying.”

He then turned and stepped around Gandalf, walking to exit his own room.

“You are truly a noble man, Aragorn,” the wizard said, “I would be honoured to call you my king.”

Aragorn hesitated for but a second, before turning his head back to Gandalf, “I will retrieve my weapons and leave tomorrow at first light for the Shire,” he then exited; a heavy step in his stride, and a need to prove himself in the back of his mind.

He did as he promised; after a dreamless sleep he woke early and packed his weapons, loading them onto his beautiful brown stead. He then took his horse’s reins and began leading him out of Elrond’s stables when he heard a familiar sweet voice call to him.

“Nach gwannatha sin? (Is this how you would take your leave?)”

Aragorn sighed and turned to Arwen. She stood in one of her long gowns, her hands clasped together in front of her, and dark her hair trailing down, both behind and in front of her delicately pointed ears.

“Ma nathach hi gwannathach or minuial archened? (Did you think you could slip away at first light - unnoticed?” she asked.

Aragorn looked away. He had not wanted to say goodbye to her. It was cruel, he knew that, but he also knew that their love would not last – could not last. He was mortal and she was immortal, he was destined for pain and hardship and she was destined for peace and bliss. _Plus,_ he considered as an afterthought, _her love for me is strong, solid and ever growing, while my love for her...all it does is waver._

Sometimes Aragorn thought he loved her; when she held him and he held her, and they talked of silly things and laughed together. But then there were those times when he kissed her or stroked her hand, and instead of thinking of Arwen, beautiful Arwen, he’d be thinking of Legolas and how it might feel to do the same to him.

“Ú-ethelithon (I will not be coming back),” he finally responded, though he was not sure if the statement was in fact true.

“Estelio guru lîn ne dagor.” Arwen smiled and stepped forward, clasping his free hand in hers, “Ethelithach (You underestimate your skill in battle... You will come back).”

“Ú-bedin o gurth ne dagor (It is not of death in battle that I speak),” he said. _Leave it Arwen, please leave it,_ he thought desperately, for he could never lie to her.

“O man pedich? (What do you speak of then?)” she asked, wishing to understand.

_What do I speak of; that I love another? Was that even true?_ He was sure he loved Arwen; though to what extent he did not know. Elrond had already severed whatever father-son relationship they had once had, and marrying Arwen would only make things worse. Aragorn was sure Elrond had guessed of Arwen’s love for him; and then there was Legolas. He did feel something towards Legolas, but nothing could ever happen between them. _Does that then mean that I am only making do with Arwen because I can’t have Legolas?_ He asked himself. 

“If you are still concerned for my immortality think not of it,” she finally said, “it is my decision, and not yours.”

She assumed that this was what he was worried about, which truthfully was an aspect of his worry. What if Arwen gave up her immortality only for him to find out he did not truly love her? Aragorn could not let her give her immortality up, not for his love or any. She was an elf, and she was beautiful and kind, she deserved to live on with her people.

“Man is fickle,” Aragorn said, “and mortality would suit you ill,” and turned away from her, taking with him his horse and luggage.

“So you would leave me again?” she asked, “Last time you left without warning and you’ve only just returned…” she said sadly.

He had only been gone months; and he’d done what he’d needed to do at the time. He had gone to see the Dúnedain and learn more of whom he and his people were. 

“…And now you mean to leave for good?”

He paused. Something heavy stuck in his throat, it felt like guilt and frustration. He _had_ to leave, for his promise to Gandalf, and for Arwen, and especially for himself. He could not allow himself rest from duty. But he could not leave Arwen just like that, whether or not he loved her. She ran to meet him and took his hand, and cupped his face, turning his head to look at her. Aragorn let go of his horse’s reigns and met her pleading eyes.

“Do you remember when we first met?”

Aragorn nodded, solemnly, “I thought I had wandered into a dream,” he said truthfully.

“Long years have passed,” she said to him, stroking her hand down his cheek, “You did not have the cares you carry now. Do you remember what I told you?” she asked.

He remembered the night, and he remembered the weeks and months spent together afterwards, “You said you'd bind yourself to me, forsaking the immortal life of your people.”

“And to that I hold,” she smiled, “I would rather share one lifetime with you than face all the ages of this world alone. “

Arwen unfurled his clenched fist, and placed something warm and light in his hand. He looked down to see the Evenstar, the iconic necklace of the Lady Arwen.

“I choose a mortal life,” she told him.

Aragorn grimaced, “You cannot give me this,” he said, staring down at the glittering jewel. 

“It is mine to give to whom I will,” she paused, “Like my heart.”

He finally looked up at her, and in her eyes all he saw was a burning love. She gave him her heart, and her soul and her very life and he could not give her anything in return because he was fearful that he would want it back. Unused to mortal life as Aragorn knew she would be, Arwen would die of heartache if he were to take back his love.

“It is not a request but a demand,” Arwen told him seriously, “take my heart with you so that I may give you strength in dire times,” she smiled, leaning into to kiss him.

He kissed her back. It was only a chaste kiss. But when she lent back, she remained before him, her lips barely brushing his. 

“When you return,” she said, emphasizing the ‘when’, “If you still wish for me to leave for the Undying Lands then I shall do so.”

Seeing no other way out, Aragorn took the necklace, and turned from her. His throat was rough and clogged with confusion and guilt, and he struggled to think of a way to fix the situation or at least to regain the use of his voice box so as to give a polite farewell to the lady. But it was no use.

When he reached Imladris’ border he climbed upon his horse and rode for the Shire. The only company he had for weeks were his horse and guilty-ridden conscience, and he so longed for someone to confide in. But that was a pleasure Aragorn would not likely be granted for a good long while.

\--  
 **Blue print for Dictionary below:  
 **Sindarin** /Quenya – Translation - _Literal Meaning_**

****In order of first appearance to last.****  
 **Anirne hene beriad i chên lîn** – She wanted to protect her child – _she wanted to protect the child (which is/was) her’s_  
 **Nach gwannatha sin?** – Is this how you would take your leave? – _Are you going to leave in such a way?_  
 **Ma nathach hi gwannathach or minuial archened?** – Did you think you could slip away at first light – unnoticed? – _Are you going to leave after morrow – unseen?_  
 **Ú-ethelithon** – I will not be coming back – _I will not return._  
 **Estelio guru lîn ne dagor. Ethelithach** – You underestimate you skill in battle…you will come back – _Trust in your skill in battle. You will return._  
 **Ú-bedin o gurth ne dagor** – It is not of death in battle that I speak of – _I don’t speak about death in battle._  
 **O man pedich?** – What do you speak of then? – _About what you speak?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this chapter took so long! I actually intended to put it up yesterday afternoon but I lost track of time. I hope you like this chapter...Sorry about there being no Legolas! At least stuff's happening...right? I mean Gandalf! (yay, I think. I like Gandalf...I hope I did him justice.) Any ideas about what you thinks going to happen in future chapters? Love to hear your theories ha ha. Anyway, please leave a comment! I'd love to hear any questions or queries; and if you want to criticise anything go ahead, I'll gladly debate any decision I've made in my story so far. Thanks, I'll update as soon as possible!


	9. A Letter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aragorn writes a letter.

Aragorn stared down at the parchment in front of him. The shadow of his unmoving hand flickered across its surface. He wasn’t sure what to write now that he had finally decided to reply to the letter. He had never told anyone where he’d gone, and so it was very much a surprise when after a few months of roaming the outskirts of the Shire, an elven messenger had found him.

At first Aragorn had thought the letter was from Arwen, but on closer inspection he noticed that the parchment’s material was of a daintier making than Rivendell’s, that of the thinner and softer leaves of Mirkwood forest. The letter was from Legolas. The amount of joy which had filled the man upon learning of the writer’s identity was overwhelming, and made him feel more than a little guilty when he realized he was relieved that the letter was not from Arwen.

Inside the letter was Legolas’ normal neat scrawl, and the subject was little different than what it usually was. The elf talked of his small scouting adventures, of his father’s palace, and occasionally his father, of any upcoming event and of any counsel he needed. This time was little different except for the extra paragraph or two about Aragorn’s sudden leave and Legolas’ annoyance at not being invited along. There was also a sentence or two about how he hoped Aragorn would receive the letter as, “…Gandalf had been very vague in his explanation on where you had run off to.”

Aragorn had replied straight away, though Legolas would not receive the letter for another couple of weeks. Ever since then the two had continued their letter writing. However tonight, a normal-enough night, for a wanderer lodging in a wanderers cabin, that Aragorn could not think of what to write in response to Legolas’ letter. Legolas’ words seemed to dance with the light of Aragorn’s candle, their meaning dancing out of his reach every time he attempted to respond to them.

_’Arwen longs to hear from you. She asked if I had heard from you since you left, I assumed you did not wish to talk with her so I replied that you hadn’t. What is wrong Aragorn? Do you not love her as you once did? I thought you had intentions to marry her. Is there someone else? Do you wish for my counsel? I’ll happily give it.’_

Aragorn read over the words once more and sighed. What was wrong was that he was confused. Did he love Arwen? Yes he believed he did. Did he have intentions to marry her? He had. Was there someone else? Yes and no. He wished…but it could never be. Did he wish for Legolas’ counsel? Yes, but this was not a subject Legolas could give counsel for.

Aragorn frowned, and read the next line, _’Do you know what you want?’_. _No, and yes, and maybe, perhaps but...he couldn’t but he wished…oh dear._ Aragorn wished to see Legolas again, to hug his friend and to joke with him and to see him smile. He wished to ride with him, to train with him, to shoot arrows and pretend to be insulted by Legolas’ jests just to see the elf’s hurried attempts to apologise. 

It was not Arwen he dreamt of every night, but Legolas, and it was not the passionate, lust-crazed dreams of a teenager with a crush, no…he dreamt of lying in Legolas arms, only lying there, gazing up into the elf’s eyes as they looked down into his own. He dreamt of Legolas watching him, enthralled in some kind of amazing attribute Aragorn had that only the elf could see. He dreamt of a soft loving kiss, and of counsel whispered beneath the covers of Legolas’ bed. That didn’t mean he did have those dreams were everything was just hot and sticky and fast but they were just as frequently in his dreaming as the other dreams. 

Essentially Aragorn could see himself only by Legolas’ side. So what did that mean for Arwen? When he thought of her, he thought of her soft touch and kind words, but he felt only a friendly love for her, and every day it diminished further. He once told himself that he was only pretending not to love her so that when she left for the Undying Lands he would not feel any pain. But he was beginning to know better.

If he loved Arwen, then he would not think of another such as he did, and if he loved Arwen and he still thought of another like this, then he did not disserve her as a wife. In that instant, just as a soft breeze rattled his window as if Enu was in agreement with his thoughts, Aragorn knew that he could not take advantage of Arwen. He would tell her he did not love her anymore, and she would live on. What he would do after that? That was far beyond the horizon of his thoughts.

Aragorn set his quill upon the parchment and this time he began to write, _’Thank you for your concern, mellon nîn, it is received with gratitude. My mind has not been at ease of late. My mind is plagued by the complications my heart produces. I do love Arwen, but it is not the love she shares for me. I do not wish to harm her heart or her soul, that is why without sadness I will request she take the ships with her people to the Undying Lands. This may be a shock to you my friend, but you have guessed correctly,’_ Aragorn paused. 

_Should he really say what he meant to say?_ He bit the inside of his cheek and continued despite the loud pounding in his ears, _‘there is another which my heart calls for, and has called for a long long while. But circumstances do not agree with us and I’m afraid it shall never be. Your counsel would be helpful and gratifyingly met if I could bring myself to ask for it, but I cannot, mellon nîn, your offer is all I allow myself to receive.’_

Aragorn paused again, deciding to leave it at that. The vaguer the letter the better. He hated lying to Legolas, just as he knew Legolas had hated lying to him about his heritage, and so stating the true while leaving out important details meant he could be truthful and yet not reveal the truth of the matter. 

Aragorn then went on to talk about the increasing amount of orc sightings and the strange talk among the locals. He talked of the past weeks adventures, and of how the locals had though up nicknames for him, such as ‘Stick-at-naught Strider and Longshanks.’ To be perfectly honest, Aragorn found them amusing if anything.

Finally he got around to the other matter he had been dreading to talk about. He had heard from reasonably reliable sources, which he had acquired under the name of Strider, that there was trouble brewing in the South-East. There was rumour that a group of pirates had attacked and were planning further attacks on Gondor’s shores. The pirates, Strider was told, were a people called the Corsairs of Umbar. They were attacking Gondorian trade ships and fishing vessels, raiding and destroying all that they came across.

Aragorn knew of the Corsairs of Umbar, and he despised their name for they were the traitorous and corrupt. They had once been good men but had now fallen to the level of murdering thieves. When Aragorn had been told of his heritage and linage he had traveled to what was left of the Dúnedain villages, or rather camps and squats now, and he had learnt much from them. The Corsairs were once Númenoreans, and though they were the traitorous ones, they managed to escape their fated death.

Aragorn had promised his fellow Dúnedain that at the right time he would take up sword and attempt to blot them out from his people’s history. He would remind the Corsairs of Umbar of who they once were and who they had betrayed, and he _would_ show mercy to those who showed regret and remorse, but those who did not? He would strike them down and watch them choke on their own blood. 

Aragorn knew what this was; it was revenge. It was his anger at not knowing of his heritage for so long. It was fear for what that heritage meant was in his future. It was dread for if he failed, and dread for if he succeeded. It was his frustration for being unable to express his feelings to Legolas, and it was his need to rid his weighted soul of as much tarnished lineage as he could.

He needed to tell Legolas something of this plan, but what to tell him? How much to tell him? Gandalf had granted him leave from his scouting about the edges of the Shire so that was already partly dealt with; he would need to contact Gandalf for confirmation. 

But Legolas would want to know where he had gone off to, and he could not leave the elf to wonder why he had not replied to any of his future letters. Aragorn would be on the move for a long while, and he would not have the time nor the means to contact his friend. In the end he decided upon the truth, as he had before, though like before, he would not divulge the entirety.

Legolas might try to stop him if he told the elf of his true intentions. However even if he did tell him all of what he planned, there was little his friend could do for by the time Legolas received his letter Aragorn would be long gone.

 _’There is an errand in the south-east I must attend to, something of great importance and urgent need. I will be unable to contact you for some time._ Aragorn paused, and then on a whim, he added, _‘do not fret for when I am finished I will make my way to Lothlorien for rest, before returning back to my post within the Shire._

In Lothlórien he knew he’d meet Arwen. There he would discuss his thoughts and feelings, and there he would free Arwen from her pledge. He also knew that Legolas, without fail, would make his way there to meet him. At least it would settle Legolas’ thoughts to know they would see eachother soon. Aragorn did not have to ask the elf to know that Legolas would be waiting for him there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this took so long...and I'm sorry it's rather short. Hope you enjoyed it despite that. Please leave a comment, thanks! :D


	10. The Ride South Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aragorn had wanted to see Minas Tirith before he had even known that he was the intended-heir of its throne. He could see it if he wanted to but he was frightened that the bright white halls and towering citadel would bring a net down around him. 
> 
> To make matters worse the time to visit Minas Tirith had come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I don’t understand horses at all so please forgive me if I am incorrect in my assumption of the time it takes them to ride to places. I worked it out but all the numbers were approximations and taken from the internet, so I’m sorry if I’m incorrect. (I’m scared I’ve grossly exaggerated or underestimated the distance vs speed that a horse can travel at.) I’m really hoping I haven’t annoyed any horse lovers out there – I’m not really a horse person. Anyway, enjoy!

Aragorn had wanted to see Minas Tirith before he had even known that he was the intended-heir of its throne. He could see it if he wanted to but he was frightened that the bright white halls and towering citadel would bring a net down around him. 

The great city plagued his dreams, both good and bad, and he knew without a doubt that whether he wanted to or not the call of the city would draw him in like a helpless fish caught upon the hook of so called ‘destiny.’ To make matters worse the time to visit Minas Tirith had come. He had to warn Gondor of the Corsairs of Umbar, and that meant he would need to speak with the Steward of Gondor; and so he set off.

He arrived in Rohan after two weeks travel on a reasonably fit horse, and had spent several nights resting and talking with King Thengel. After telling the King of his urgent news for Gondor he had been equipped with a fast horse and an escort of four riders of Rohan, and so a week later he found himself headed for Minas Tirith, traveling the Great West Road.

Aragorn’s knew his name was a telltale sign of his bloodline, and so he adopted the name Thorongil, which he introduced himself as to the Rohirrim. His party traveled quickly and efficiently. They were a friendly lot, and often included him in their jests and conversations. They had acted formally during the first two days but as their party moved further and further from Edoras they shed their formalities and became friendly comrades. Aragorn didn’t say anything to them, but he highly respected that trait. He never had believed in unrealistic formalities; politeness would not save a man or woman’s life.

By the fifth day the company had reached Drúadan Forest, and rode alongside it, quickening their speed slightly as they continued upon the Great West Road. The sky was darkening quickly and yet the Riders refused to stop. They seemed nervous, and at first Aragorn did not understand but then he had heard their whispers. They spoke of a strange people, the Woses they called them, who apparently lived in the forest. Aragorn knew not of whom they spoke, but he left them to their suspicious murmurings for once or twice he thought he glanced the glint of yellow eyes peering from the darkness between the tree trunks.

Alas they did not leave the forests edge, and the sun disappeared from the sky. Aragorn slowed his horse about to announce that they make camp – and at least if they would not take the shelter of the forest, than perhaps the edge, where the trees still overlooked – when a sudden figure appeared on the road ahead. A few of the Riders cursed, others whispered prayers but Aragorn knew better than to be fearful for his horse and the Rider’s horses had not been spooked.

Aragorn dismounted his steed, much to the displeasure of his company, and walked forwards. His keen eyes searched for silhouette and distinguishing feature, and he soon realised that the figure was a rider upon horseback. 

“Thorongil?”

Aragorn turned back to the rider, “It is alright,” he told all of them, searching out their faces in the fading light, “they will not harm us,” he promised.

He then turned back to the stranger to see the figure dismount. Aragorn walked forward.

“Who goes there!” he called.

“Aragorn?” 

Aragorn raised an eyebrow and then chuckled as Legolas came into view. Legolas laughed and pulled Aragorn into a hug.

“Mellon nîn, I’m glad to see you,” he told him.

They let each other go and Legolas stepped back to take a look at Aragorn, “You...” the elf paused as if trying to think of what to say, he then met Aragorn’s eyes and gave a confused frown, “You look like a thief or beggar-man.”

Aragorn, who was torn between slight annoyance at his friend’s badly timed visit and gladness in seeing Legolas again, doubled over in laughter.

“Thank you, mellon nîn,” he said sarcastically, “it is good to see you again, too.”

Legolas’ smiled, “I apologise for my unannounced arrival,” he told him, “your letter had me worried, I was not sure-”

“Thorongil?”

Legolas paused and raised an eyebrow, whispering a questioning, “Thorongil?” to Aragorn.

“The name I have given them,” he told Legolas, before turning back to his escort, “it is alright my friends,” he told them cheerfully, “we are in good company.”

After hastened introductions and long-winded explanations the Rohirrim accepted Legolas’, slightly altered, story. It then took Aragorn but a few minutes to persuade the men that there was no use in continuing their ride with exhausted horses and no light to guide them. Though the men were hesitant they agreed with Aragorn and set up camp. A fire was built, backpacks were unloaded and food was prepared.

The Rohirrim slept off from the path, away from the trees, with their fire burning at their feet and their eyes facing the forest in caution, while Aragorn and Legolas arranged their gear at the foot of the trees on the opposite edge of the pathway. The Rohirrim did not question their decision to do so. Perhaps this was because they already believed Aragorn to be a strange man, or perhaps this was because they did not want to admit their fear.

Aragorn sipped at his vegetable stock and listened to Legolas’ soft humming as the elf unpacked his gear and lay down beside Aragorn.

“I brought you some food from Mirkwood,” Legolas told him, handing a leaf wrapped parcel, “I knew you would have little good food where you were headed.”

Aragorn smiled, “Thank you,” he said, taking the parcel. 

It was thoughtful of Legolas to supply him with food, but Aragorn disagreed with the statement. Food was food, and what the Rohirrim had for food was not as bad as Legolas might think. The two then lay in silence for a while before Aragorn placed his finished bowl of soup beside him and turned to Legolas.

“Why did you come, mellon nîn?”

Legolas lent his head back against the tree trunk he lay against, “The contents of your letter were highly worrying,” he replied, “Your confession of the fading love for the Lady Arwen was quite a shock.”

Aragorn nodded, “It shocked me when I first thought it.”

Legolas did not tell Aragorn that he had been as shocked by the news as he had by his reaction to it. For instead of feeling sadness or horror for Arwen’s rejected feelings he felt only relief. But why should he feel such a thing? He had wondered long and hard on the matter. However his relief had been short lived as he had then read of Aragorn’s love for another, a nameless woman. 

“And your love,” Legolas began, “you said that circumstances were against you,” he paused again, “but do you intend to go ahead and try despite this?”

Aragorn did not know what to say. For an instance he thought Legolas knew whom he loved but he soon realised that the elf could not.

Aragorn sighed, “If only I could,” he said. _Be careful Aragorn. Do not say too much. Do not give too much away._

Legolas paused. But even with jealousy lodging a rock in his throat he knew what he had to tell Aragorn; what he, as a friend, _should_ tell him. He had always been jealous of Arwen, and would likely be jealous of Aragorn’s new love but Legolas knew it was wrong to think that way; Arwen had never kept them apart. But still jealousy raised its ugly head in defiance to reason.

“I believe you should tell her your intentions,” Legolas said, despite hating his words, “even if you are destined to never be together.”

Aragorn attempted to search out Legolas’ eyes in the dark but even with his superb-eyesight it could never match the elf’s.

“Maybe,” he lied, “perhaps.” Aragorn then paused, “but what if...” he stumbled quickly remembering that he was referring to a ‘she’, “what if she does not return my feelings?” he asked, “Or worse, what if she does?”

Legolas frowned, “I’m afraid I cannot help much more than I have,” he said, “perhaps if you gave me a name-”

“No, I could not do that,” Aragorn replied.

Legolas clenched his jaw, “At least tell me why you head south-east?” 

“I am sorry, mellon nîn,” Aragorn told him, “it is nothing of much importance. You had no need to rush here, and you have no need to stay.”

Legolas did not answer. _Why had Aragorn, all of a sudden, stopped trusting me?_ Legolas thought with sadness, _what had happened in those four years that had him refusing to divulge personal matters. Aragorn had never shied away from telling me the truth. So why now?_

“I understand,” Legolas answered finally, though he did not, “I am sorry for my sudden appearance, I would not have come if I’d known you did not want to see me.”

Aragorn started at that, reaching forward, “No, Legolas...I...” _What could I say? What should I tell him?_

Legolas reached out a hand and patted Aragorn’s shoulder, “It is alright, mellon nîn,” he told him sadly, “it has indeed been long since we last met if we now find reason to argue and hold secrets from each other.”

Aragorn fell back against his tree and closed his eyes. He was ashamed of himself for upsetting his friend. The only reason he did not tell him where he was going was because he cared too much for him. There was always the possibility that he underestimated the Corsairs of Umbar and that he would not live to see the end of the battle; he could not let Legolas see his demise, and he could not let Legolas risk his life for _his_ ancestor’s mistakes. Aragorn fell into an uneasy sleep; a sleep in which he dreamt of a battle that had not yet taken place, where man fought against man, and great ships raised their torn flags into the sky.

At sunrise the company packed their gear and readied their horses. The Rohirrim watched on in interested silence as Aragorn and Legolas argued in hushed elvish. The Riders were confused and suspicious of the elf’s sudden appearance and apparent friendship with the man they were escorting but they made no move to question Aragorn.

Finally the group mounted their horses and set off. Legolas had persuaded Aragorn to allow him to stay at least till they saw Minas Tirith on the horizon, for he had guessed that that was where his friend was headed; Aragorn had agreed, somewhat hesitantly, to allow him to ride with them. The two rode out in front of the group and continued their talking.

“Gandalf no longer needs your presence in the Shire,” Legolas told his friend, “at least, he said he had no need for you to remain their for the time being.”

Aragorn nodded but did not reply.

Legolas turned to his friend, watching the man’s silent and solemn expression. Aragorn looked so different to Legolas, with his dirty, torn, rag-like attire, unclean hair and dirt-streaked skin. He looked the exact opposite of the heir to the throne of Gondor but perhaps that was the intention. Yet, Legolas knew Aragorn, even if they had not seen each other in so long a time; he knew that his friend dressed like he did for a different reason. Legolas knew that Aragorn would rather the dirtied rags of a wandering hero than fine-silks of a rich king.

“When you are finished here, would you-” Legolas stopped suddenly. Something was wrong.

Aragorn pulled at his horse’s reigns, and held a hand up to halt the company behind him. He knew the look Legolas wore; it spoke of danger. Aragorn strained to hear what it was his friend had been spooked by but all he could hear was the loud breathing of their horses.

“Nad no ennas!” (Something’s out there!)

“Man te?” Aragorn asked quietly. (What is it?)

Legolas’ brow farrowed as he strained to make out what it was he heard and then in sudden realisation his eyes widened.

“Man te?!” Aragorn urged, “Man te, mellon nîn?!”

\--  
**Blue print for Dictionary below:  
**Sindarin** /Quenya – Translation - _Literal Meaning_**

 ** **In order of first appearance to last:****  
**Nad no ennas** – Something’s out there! – _a thing to be there_  
**Man te?** – What is it? – _What is it?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m sorry for the break up of this chapter. I have a long winded explanation but basically the chapter was getting pretty long and I ran out of time. I may have unintentionally made this a cliffhanger. Apologies! 
> 
> I promise to update soon, I know exactly where this chapter is going!  
> Please leave a comment!
> 
> Credit for the photos used in this fanfiction goes to Alef, who graciously allowed me to post them in my story. Alef, and their other cosplays - which are brilliant so definitely check them out!! - can be found on [Deviantart](http://the-alef.deviantart.com/) and [Tumblr](http://alef-art.tumblr.com/).


	11. The Ride South Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Something's coming. The first traces of war.

“Man te?!” Aragorn urged, “Man te, mellon nîn?!”

(What is it?)

“Glamrim,” (orcs) Legolas turned to Aragorn, “A dozen or so, they’re close,” Legolas grimaced, “Estel, these are different from any I’ve fought for a while...they’re...” the elf trailed off.

Aragorn took that opportunity to spin his horse around, “Orcs! Ready yourselves!” he warned the Riders of Rohan.

Aragorn had killed many a man with his sword, dagger or bow and arrow; but he had only had opportunity to fight the odd group of orcs. The orcs he had fought, however, had never been very difficult to handle, they’d practically thrown themselves onto his sword. He knew that the creatures had once been a powerful and dangerous race but now? He had thought they’d dwindled into but a few. What Legolas was explaining, however, told otherwise.

“They have wargs,” Legolas added, turning his horse around and riding to Aragorn’s side. “These men won’t survive a warg attack,” he whispered urgently.

Aragorn turned on Legolas angrily, “Climb a tree and aid us from above,” he ordered.

Legolas didn’t argue. He rode to the tallest tree and lifted himself into a crouch upon his horse’s back before leaping gracefully into the branches above.

Aragorn took in the brave-faced riders before him; some of their expressions wavered. Without even a thought something in Aragorn stirred and he found himself straightening his back and adopting a powerful tone of voice, “They have known of our whereabouts for some time,” he told them, “they can smell us,” he paused, “but they do not know we hear them coming,” he told them. He spun his horse, “Come, Riders of Rohan, let us not leave a single one alive,” he unsheathed his sword.

Legolas watched Aragorn in surprised awe, before he suddenly remembered where he was. He lent over the side of his branch and called down to his horse, which stood obediently by the trunk of the tree. 

“Noro,” he told her, “Noro, Nimsir, Noro!” and she quickly sped away. (Run away, Whiteriver, Run! | the horse’s name is White-River)

The Riders, Aragorn and Legolas all fell into silence. They had a strategically reasonable position; atop a hilltop, with trees on one side and flatlands on the other. The hill dropped down into a shallow ditch, which then rose again so that anything beyond it could not be seen.

There was a short-lived silence before they suddenly heard their enemies approaching; the growling of vicious wolf-like creatures and the wheezing of orcs could be heard from just over the hilltop; and then they came into view. There were nine of them, nine snarling wargs, each with an orc rider, brandishing a serrated-edged spear or sword in their claw-like hand.

There was a pause, as if the two groups were sizing each other up, and then as if a silent command had ordered them to begin they both sprung into action. Legolas pulled back his bow, sending arrows flying at a speed inhuman. Each of his arrows found their targets: neck, joint, eye – and after only a few minutes he’d slain two wargs and their riders. 

Aragorn swung his sword back and forth, cutting the head off an orc and stabbing another through the chest. Two Riders of Rohan killed the warg his first victim rode but the second warg evaded all assault and sank its teeth into Aragorn’s horse’s neck. 

Aragorn was flung from his steed. Fine dirt filled the air about him, invading his eyes and mouth. He cried out in shock; all he could think about was that his beautiful companion was being ripped to shreds beside him, and that he would be next if he did not ready himself. 

An orc without warg suddenly pulled a jagged sword on Aragorn, who only just managed to counter the attack with a block. Aragorn’s eyes were still murky with dirt and moisture but he was a better fighter than the orc, and soon had the creature on its back, gurgling in pain as blood trickled from its slit throat. 

Aragorn heard a cry beside him and looked about to see one of the Rohirrim on his knees, a sword through his chest. Aragorn cried out in anger as he ran to the man’s aid, lashing out harshly at his attacker. The orc was larger than the last and his blows were savage and skillful. 

It moved forward with every one of its blows, sending Aragorn into a quick retreat. He slipped on a root and fell backward, his sword falling from his grasp. He turned onto his side just as the orc brought down its sword. The weapon lodged itself in the dirt and gave Aragorn just enough time to roll over and grab his own weapon. The orc pulled its sword free and Aragorn spun to block its next assault when the orc plunged the sword into Aragorn’s shoulder. Aragorn cried out in pain but before the orc could cause any further harm to him three arrows, quicker than the blink of and eye, sunk deep into its neck, stomach and chest. The orc fell backward, dead before it even hit the ground. 

Aragorn breathed in and out shakily through clenched teeth as dislodged the sword from his shoulder. 

“Mellon nîn?” he looked up to see Legolas kneeling beside him, “are you alright?” he asked in panic, “What can I do? Do you need help? I’m sorry, mellon nîn I was not-”

“Shh,” Aragorn managed, giving a grunt of pain, “I’m alright,” he promised Legolas, attempting to reassure the elf with a comforting look, “I’m alright, mellon nîn,” he said again, “help the others,” he ordered.

Legolas pursed his lips and gave one nod, picking up Aragorn’s sword, which had again fallen from his grasp, and handing it to the man quickly before running to aid the Rohhirim.

Aragorn ripped a section of his tattered and dirty cloak and used it to bind wound. He then managed to pull himself to his feet with the help of his sword and good arm; and just in time too for an orc suddenly saw the injured man and ran at him. Aragorn swung his sword up to defend himself. The orc grinned nastily at him but Aragorn could see clearly that it overestimated his injury and its own strength. With one long swing he brought his sword down on the orc, which blocked it, giving a spluttered croak at the sheer force of the blow. Aragorn smirked back at the orc, and while it was still recovering Aragorn swung again and again till the orc’s knees buckled and it fell to the ground. Then in one last swipe he beheaded the creature.

Aragorn looked up to see two wargs and their riders retreat in the direction they’d first come, while one warg fell to the ground beside him, an arrow lodged through its throat. In the wargs jaws lay the torn remains of a Rider of Rohan. Aragorn didn’t allow himself to attempt to recognise which one. 

There was a growl from Aragorn’s right and he raised his sword to defend himself against the warg behind him but the creature ignored him, leaping over him and disappearing with the others who’d fled. Legolas, who stood across the bloodied battlefield stood from his knelt position and looked about him. Aragorn looked around too and saw that one Rider of Rohan was tending to another. He hurried over to them, holding his left arm to his chest so as to not move his injury.

“Are you two alright?” he asked.

They looked reasonably uninjured, though both were covered in shallow cuts and one seemed to have a broken arm. The one with the broken arm looked up in grief.

“Are we the only ones who survived?” he asked.

Aragorn nodded, “You two, me and the elf, yes,” he said sadly, looking away from the distraught expression of the young man, “the other two...” he trailed off, just as he saw Legolas running in the direction the remaining creatures had gone.

“Legolas!” Aragorn called, “Legolas, stay put, don’t-”

Legolas turned back to them, “I will not let them live!” he called, “there may be more of them,” and then the elf turned and continued over the hill.

 _Idiot! That was why he should not go alone!_ Aragorn quickly turned to the Riders of Rohan, “Can you ride?” he asked.

Both of the men nodded.

“Then find what horses you can,” he said, “leave one for Legolas and I if one can be spared, and then ride back to Edoras, warn your king of what has happened.”

Then Aragorn turned from the two men, and stepping over fallen orc, warg and man, he hurried in the direction Legolas had gone. _Stupid, stupid elf._ He couldn’t believe Legolas had gone on without them. _He didn’t even listen to me!_ Images of Legolas fighting wargs and orcs alone, bombarded his frantic mind. _What if something happened to him?_ He thought worriedly, _What if- No...no Legolas is more than a competent fighter._ Though, that did not stop Aragorn from worrying.

Aragorn followed the shallow indents in the dirt which Legolas’ feet had made; he came across two bloodied and dead wargs and one orc, which left the remaining warg – not to mention any other orcs and wargs that may never have shown themselves – unaccounted for. This fact worried Aragorn further.

He quickened his pace, following the line of the Drúadan forest, shedding all attempts at remaining stealthy in his hurry to find Legolas; and then suddenly he saw him. The elf lay in the shadows of a tree, almost unnoticeable to Aragorn whose eyes were unadjusted to the shadows. The only reason Aragorn saw him was because of the warg pacing in front of the elf, its jaws were wide and glistening with spittle and blood but it shook its head in annoyance as if a fly were buzzing about its ears. Then Aragorn saw the arrow, which was shallowly lodged, horizontally to the warg’s skin, so it was like a splinter, sticking out both ends. 

The warg seemed distracted, for now. But despite its closeness and the fact it might recover at any minute, Legolas did not move to escape or defend himself. Thinking the worst, Aragorn ran at the beast in blinded fury. He gripped his sword with both hands, ignoring the pain in his shoulder, and swung at the warg, who saw him just in time and dodged the blow.

It snarled at Aragorn and began to circle him, and Aragorn snarled back, never taking his eyes off of the creature’s own. The warg leapt at him and Aragorn attempted to dodge the beast, but its claws caught him on his injured shoulder and pulled him down to the ground with it. There they lay. It took Aragorn a few shuddering breaths before he realised his sword was imbedded in the creatures chest and that it wasn’t moving. Another few more breaths later and he had enough strength to shove the beast off of himself.

When he was free, he ran to Legolas’ side. Aragorn let out a sigh of relief when he saw that the elf was still breathing. However his relief was short lived when he saw the extent of the damage the warg had inflicted on his friend. From Legolas’ shoulder to hip were bloodied gashes, where the warg must have picked him up with its jaws. Why it had not crushed him and had instead thrown him to the side was a mystery to Aragorn. The elf’s slender hands clutched the bloody fabric at his stomach, and his eyes were fluttering shut.

Aragorn’s heart skipped a beat, “Mellon nîn,” Aragorn spluttered, “Legolas, don’t sleep yet,” he urged.

Legolas’ eyes opened slightly but they were glassy, and began to flutter shut once more.

“Legolas!” Aragorn cried, “stay awake, stay awake,” Aragorn pulled the elf close and patted his cheek, “you will not die before me, meleth nín, (my love) I will not allow it!”

At that moment a neigh sounded through the air and Aragorn looked in the direction he had come to see Nimsir, standing like a light on the hilltop. She must have sensed her master’s pain and come to his rescue. 

“It seems we’re in fairly good hands, meleth nín,” Aragorn muttered, wriggling his hands underneath Legolas to pick him up. 

Aragorn grunted in pain, having forgotten his injury once again, and attempted to cradle Legolas, transferring most of the elf’s weight to his uninjured arm. Legolas was light, lighter than the average man, perhaps as light as a child; but even so he was heavy in Aragorn’s arms due mainly to the man’s injury.

Nimsir knelt and then sat on the ground so that Aragorn could easily lay Legolas on her back, and then once he had sat down behind Legolas, she stood. Aragorn gripped her mane tightly, while holding Legolas to him to stop the elf from falling from the horse.

“Noro!” Aragorn ordered, “Nimsir, noro! Hortho!” (Go, Nimsir, go! Hurry!)

The land around them changed rapidly as the white-river horse sped them to their destination. Aragorn felt himself weakening upon the back of Nimsir but did not allow himself to close his eyes for he knew if he did he might fall unconscious and he was fearful of what he might find in waking. They stopped only three times. The first time was at Mering Stream where Nimsir was allowed rest and drink, and where Aragorn bathed and swathed Legolas’ wounds as best he could. He had little time to deal with his own wound. But he was lucky enough to come across an Athelas herb, which he chewed and filled his wound with. He also dabbed at Legolas’ own wounds. 

The elf, who’d shown little to no sign of wakefulness, stirred as Aragorn tended to his wounds, and muttered words the man could not understand. Aragorn patted him and shushed him in those instances, whispering comforting words. 

“I know, meleth nín, I know, I’ll get you help. In Lothlorien we’ll find help.” 

Then when Nimsir was ready, they set off once more. The second stop lasted but an hour, and was at the banks of River Entwash. The third stop was made so as to carefully plot a crossing over the last river, however it was Nimsir, and not Aragorn, who judged the safe crossing. 

By the time they reached Lothlorien both Aragorn and Legolas had lost much blood. Legolas’ breathing had diminished to a rasping hush, and everything around Aragorn had become distant and fuzzy. Aragorn’s eyes were fluttering open and shut and his mouth was moving, forming words that he couldn’t process. All he knew was that Nimsir was guiding them in-between trees and bushes, and that he couldn’t let go of Legolas no matter what.

“Legolas, ci bain in elin. Ci velethron e-guilen. Gi mellin, gi mellin. Meleth nín, gi mellin. Im innas melin n’uir? Gi mellin...”

At one point Aragorn felt Nimsir stop, and he found himself being pulled from her. It felt like the trees were bending down to take him into their arms, their rough bark turned soft and gentle. 

“Av-'osto,” (don’t fear) the trees whispered, and then they began to sing.

Aragorn let himself fall back into their arms, gratefully, with Legolas in his. But then Legolas began to be pulled form his grasp and before he could stop it the elf was gone.

“Legolas!” Aragorn tried to feel for him in the murky sleep, which was pulling him under, “Baw! Man cerig?” (No! What are you doing?) he asked the trees, “Tolo dan, avo nago den!” he shouted. (Come back, don’t hurt him!)

There was no answer and he was pulled further and further from Legolas, “Leithio nin!” (Release me!) Aragorn shouted, kicking out in desperation, “Legolas! Lethio nin! Legolas! Legolas!” but after that he knew no more.

When Aragorn woke again it was like coming out of hibernation. He felt as rested as he could ever have been, but his limbs were slow and heavy like they’d not been in use for a very long time. It was nighttime when he woke but nevertheless the trees above him were alight with iridescent blue. He knew those trees. He knew the forest. _I’m in Lothlorien,_ he thought to himself.

He stood up slowly, and noticed distant singing. It trickled down from the canopy above, and was as sweet and beautiful as any elven song he’d ever heard. He couldn’t make out the words but that hardly mattered to him. 

Aragorn checked his shoulder and found only a thin pale scar. He then wriggled his fingers and moved his arm, and was relieved to find that he had not lost any feeling in the limb. On top of that he could move it without feeling any pain in the shoulder at all. He looked down at himself and realised his clothing had been changed and then remembered that it was probably because his other clothes had been soiled with blood. 

_Legolas!_ Aragorn spun in confusion, suddenly remembering his friend and what had happened to him. 

“Do not fear, Elessar, Legolas Greenleaf lives.”

Aragorn’s heart faltered at the voice and then he spun to face the speaker, bowing instantly when he realised who had spoken. 

“Lady Galadriel,” he greeted. 

When he froze in his bowed position for a moment he finally realised what had been said to him and felt enormous relief, but then he remembered whose presence he was in and his mind went blank. He wasn’t sure how to react in her company. The Lady of Light was known throughout the elven realms as the most beautiful, intelligent and powerful being alive; if Aragorn said he didn't feel frightened of her he’d be lying.

“Aragorn,” she said, and her voice was like silk, and the light of an autumn evening's sun, “Elessar.”

Lady Galadriel glided to his side, gracefully raising a pale hand to his chin, and lifting it gently. Her lips did not move but Aragorn heard her voice clearly, ‘Heir of Isildur,’ she told him, ‘do not be afraid. I have long since awaited your arrival in my kingdom,’ and then she smiled in amusement, ‘however I did not anticipate the strange circumstances in which your arrival would come,’ she released his chin, leaning back and growing solemn, ‘I am glad you reached Lothlórien in time.’

Aragorn met the Lady’s eyes somewhat hesitantly, “I thank you for your kindness, my Lady” he told her truthfully, feeling unimaginably small and insignificant under her gaze.

She smiled, and gave an acknowledging nod before speaking once more, “Now, we have much to discuss, Elessar,” the Lady said, “of the past and of the future. But to begin, I know that you do not love my granddaughter-“

Aragorn’s eyes widened, “I-”

“Hush,” and her voice was soft and kindly as she rested a pale finger upon his lips, “Do not fear,” she said, “I am neither angered nor pleased by the fact, for it is a fact not time nor talk may change.”

Aragorn’s ears filled with the pounding of his blood, and his mind thought up all the terrible things the Lady might do if she were displeased with him.

‘I do, however, know whom you love’ this was spoken into Aragorn’s head, and he couldn’t stop the images, which her words had stirred, from surfacing in his mind. The Lady’s eyes were fixed upon his but they were not cruel nor angry, ‘you should not chastise yourself for these feelings,’ she told him.

Then her gaze left his and it was as if he were released from some hold she had over him, “Now come,” she commanded, turning and drifting away, “We have much to discuss,” she repeated, “and I have an offer for you, future king,” she turned back to him to smile, “there is a mirror, and upon your decision you will either look within it, or remain ignorant of what its waters hold.”

\--  
**Blue print for Dictionary below:  
**Sindarin** /Quenya – Translation - _Literal Meaning_**

 ** **In order of first appearance to last:****  
**Nad no ennas** – Something’s out there - _Something’s out there_  
**Man te** – What is it? - _What is it?_  
**Glamrim** – Orcs - _Noisy ones_  
**Noro** – Go - _Noisy ones_  
**Nimsir** – White-River - _White-River_  
**Hortho** – Hurry - _Move with speed_  
**Av-‘osto** – Don’t fear – _Do not fear_  
**Baw** – No – _No/stop_  
**Man cerig?** – What are you doing? – _What are you doing?_  
**Tolo dan** – Come back – _Return_  
**Avon ago den** – Don’t hurt him – _Don’t hurt/kill him!_  
**Lethio nin** – Release me! – _Release me!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Credit for the photos used in this fanfiction goes to Alef, who graciously allowed me to post them in my story. Alef, and their other cosplays - which are brilliant so definitely check them out!! - can be found on [Deviantart](http://the-alef.deviantart.com/) and [Tumblr](http://alef-art.tumblr.com/).
> 
> I’m sorry for not translating Aragorn’s delusional mutterings but I thought it would sound more delusional if you couldn’t understand what he was saying. If you’re curious...he’s just muttering truths which he’s withheld from Legolas for a long while. You can probably guess, then, what his words mean. I have the biggest crush on the Lady Galadriel, ohmygod...her and Aragorn ha ha. I couldn’t leave her out of this chapter...Anyway please leave a comment, I’d love to know what you think!


	12. A Much Changed Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thorongil, Eagle of the Star, rode out the front of his garrison. His robes were made of Gondor’s finest cloth, and his armour ensnared the sun’s light. His hair was long, sitting between shoulder and elbow, and his face blank. Shadows had long since made their homes under his eyes, which had adopted unwavering caution. He was the devoted adviser to both King Thengel of Rohan and Steward Ecthelion II of Gondor, and had served in their united army for ten years...
> 
> Thorongil’s true name was Aragorn...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the lovely comments. I promise you that we are getting closer to what you've all been waiting for. I really enjoyed writing this chapter so I hope you enjoy reading it. I'm a little annoyed with the ending, I don't think it worked very well but you can be the judge of that. Enjoy!

Thorongil, Eagle of the Star, rode out the front of his garrison. His robes were made of Gondor’s finest cloth, and his armour ensnared the sun’s light. His hair was long, sitting between shoulder and elbow, and his face blank. Shadows had long since made their homes under his eyes, which had adopted unwavering caution. He was the devoted adviser to both King Thengel of Rohan and Steward Ecthelion II of Gondor, and had served in their united army for ten years.

He was a loyal servant and though he asked for very little he never once denied a gift from the king or steward. One of the few things he did ask for was the allowance of him to visit a friend of his. However, even this was done logically, for when he visited this friend a squadron of riders would accompany him, and they would set out on a scouting mission, which was a benefit for all concerned. It allowed them to check the perimeter of Gondor and Rohan, and protect the two most powerful lands of men from threat if there were a break in the border. 

Thorongil’s true name was Aragorn but he felt as if he no longer owned it, or perhaps he never had, and might one day. He had so many names and knew that he could never call any of them his true name. Aragorn was a name he had been given at too young an age, a name that had not stuck to him all that well; it had always frayed and pealed at the edges a bit, and so Thorongil had never had trouble with removing it and replacing it with another name. He had so many names, and would likely have more. He was whom he was called, depending on whom he was with. 

So as Thorongil rode across the flatlands of Gondor, so did he ride towards Estel, a young boy called Hope, who grew up under the canopy of elven trees. There Thorongil would also find Legolas. He had seen Legolas as often as he could, and he was thankful that Legolas had not visited him in Minas Tirith, especially after the incident with the warg on the outskirts of Drúadan Forest all those years ago.

Thorongil had often had nightmares of that night, and of the race to Lothlórien. He often didn’t sleep peacefully for weeks once he remembered the event. His love for Legolas had grown ever more, despite his attempts at ignoring it. He no longer saw any beauty in anything, at least not beauty that could match what he saw in Legolas. He saw women and men alike now, all human, all boring. So when he and Legolas wrote to each other and agreed upon a date to meet he didn’t sleep peacefully for weeks out of excitement. They met every year or so but due to several large battles Thorongil and Legolas had not seen each other for over two years. Thus both the man and elf were eager to see each other once more.

Finally his company arrived at the edge of Fangorn forest and the company dismounted, not daring to venture into the wood without the aid of an elf. Thorongil would lead them in but he’d never find Legolas in the forest’s tangled depths. He could distinguish the trees whispers from the wind, but he could not understand them for he was no elf, and that ability could not be taught nor learnt. 

The men of Rohan and Gondor, whom had accompanied Thorongil, began to talk in cautious whispers, fearful of the forest ahead and of the possible danger of the flatlands at night but they needn’t have worried. Before sundown Legolas Greenleaf and Nimsir arrived. Legolas swung from his horse and embraced Thorongil as two brothers might embrace.

“Estel, mellon nîn, mae g’ovannen,” (Estel, my friend, it is good to see you) Legolas smiled.

Thorongil smiled back, and inside he felt a little bit of that boy, rise to the surface to smile along with him at his lifelong friend. The men around the two friends watched and frowned at the strange language the two conversed in. They knew little about the elves, and found it odd that such a man as Thorongil would be friends with one. Legolas often heard their whispers about him and he’d pass them on to Thorongil who’d laugh.

The company, guided by Legolas, made their way into Fangorn, and made camp at the closest clearing. The men, ever cautious and superstitious slept in a tight circle about a small fire, which was made from branches and twigs of a dead bush found out on the flatlands, as Thorongil had instructed them to.

When they were comfortable the men began whispering and Thorongil and Legolas made their own camp, far enough away that the men could not hear them talk but close enough that they could still see them. Legolas lay luxuriously in the crook of two tree roots and Thorongil sat down beside him, shedding his guise and falling back into the skin of someone, who was both and yet neither Estel and Aragorn.

“Aragorn, mellon nîn, how are you fairing?” Legolas asked as he unpacked his small satchel and brought out elven food for the two to share.

Aragorn paused before answering with a simple, “Well.”

Legolas smiled sadly, seeing straight through the lie, “and how are you sleeping?” he asked, passing some of the food to his friend.

Aragorn didn’t reply, and took the food without meeting his friend’s eyes.

“That’s what I thought,” Legolas said.

“How are you fairing?” Aragorn asked in return.

“Well,” Legolas lied, taking a small bite of his elven bread.

Aragorn laughed, “Why do we even bother lying to each other?” he asked.

Legolas turned to his friend and smiled sadly, “Why indeed?”

They fell into an uncomfortable silence. The less they saw of each other the more frequent these silences seemed to fall upon them. Legolas had missed his friend immensely. He had not slept well, himself, for a while now, not that he needed much sleep. His dreams were restless and filled with anxiety, and every waking thought turned to or was about Aragorn. He worried for him constantly, of what dangers he was facing in the South-East. He received letters from Aragorn as quickly as he knew he could send them, but even so Legolas dreaded the day those letters might stop. Thankfully Aragorn did ask for Legolas to aid him in some of his escapades, but they were never terribly dangerous, and those escapades of theirs, had lessened incredibly. 

“I worry about you,” Legolas blurted, “a lot,” he added, and before he could think through exactly what he was saying he continued, “sometimes I wander in a daze all-day, unable to think about anything else but your untimely demise.”

Aragorn sighed, and placed his food down beside him, turning so as to face Legolas. He wanted to say something reassuring. He wanted to say those three words, and he wanted to make Legolas understand why he shouldn’t worry, and why the elf wasn’t allowed to worry but he couldn’t.

“You needn’t worry,” he said instead, “Please, don’t worry,” he added, “I’m reasonably skilled in a manner of weapons, I’ve had the best teachers, and I’m hardly a child anymore.”

“Aragorn, you’re like a brother to me, I couldn’t stop worrying even if I wished it,” Legolas replied, his hands shaking slightly.

Aragorn raised a hand to Legolas chin and lifted the elf’s face so that blue eyes met grey, “I was always going to end up in trouble,” he told him, “and you know I wouldn’t have chosen this path if it weren’t for who I am,” he paused, “who I’m meant to be.”

Legolas shook his head, “Aragorn,” he said, “you would have fought a king’s war even if that king were not yourself,” and then the elf frowned, “I only wish you valued your life as I do.”

Aragorn paused, his ears ringing with the elf’s words. _Legolas,_ he thought in frustration, _Oh, Legolas if I could tell you what that meant to me, if I could tell you what I think of you._ He let go of Legolas’ chin, his fingers ghosting over the pale skin of his friends cheek. He had to resist the urge to linger there.

“You needn’t worry,” Aragorn repeated, “I’ve finished in Gondor,” he told him, “I don’t believe I’ll return there again for a long while now.”

Legolas looked up at that, “You mean you will return to Imladris?”

Aragorn smiled at his friend’s hopeful expression, “I will,” he told him.

The happiness in Legolas’ grin could not be matched, and Aragorn felt giddy as he drunk in the sight of it. He felt such a strong need in that moment to pull Legolas close, to kiss him and cradle his beautiful face, to stroke his hair and cherish him. He found himself pulling back in shock at the thoughts. Legolas’ grin became a frown.

“Are you alright?” he asked, “What’s wrong, Aragorn?”

Aragorn gave a reassuring smile but it didn’t seem to please his friend, who continued to frown, “You’re exhausted,” Legolas stated, “you must sleep.”

Aragorn’s eyes widened slightly, “No, I’m on first watch,” he argued.

Legolas scoffed, “I’m on first watch,” he told him, “you know I don’t need much sleep.”

Aragorn sighed, “Fine,” he said, “but you wake me at midnight,” he told him, picking up his elven bread and taking a bite.

Legolas smiled, and gave a nod. It was easier to lie without speaking aloud after all. Aragorn raised an eyebrow, as if deducing whether his friend was lying to him or not and when he believed he was safe he smiled.

“Fine,” Aragorn said, “but now you must tell me of Mirkwood, and your father.”

Legolas laughed sarcastically, “ah my father,” he said, “oh what a joy he’s been, lately.”

Aragorn sniggered at the elf’s tone of voice, “Still treating you like an elfling?”

Legolas shook his head, “Technically I am still an elfling, at least to him.”

“He can’t be that old, surely,” Aragorn said.

“Well in mortal terms I’d be twenty and he’d be in his late...” Legolas trailed off, taking a bite of his own elven bread before swallowing and adding a, “seventy-something?” he said unsurely.

Aragorn smirked, “He’s forgotten his birthday hasn’t he?”

Legolas laughed, “We all have,” he said, “you imagine having a thousand and something birthdays.”

They continued on like that for a while before Aragorn finally gave into sleep. He lay with his back to the riders of Rohan and Gondor and his chest to Legolas. Legolas spent the entire night looking about the forest around them and humming softly to himself. 

After a couple of hours Aragorn began mumbling in his sleep. Legolas turned and frowned down at his friend, whose face was mostly obscured by his long wavy hair. The elf lent forward and moved the strands so that Aragorn’s frowning expression was revealed. 

“Mellon nîn,” he whispered in pity, and then Legolas lent forward and stroked a hand over the man’s cheek, “Sleep well,” he whispered, “they are only dreams.”

Aragorn’s frown only deepened and his mumblings did not stop. Legolas sighed and then began to quietly hum a tune he had learnt as a child, when he truly was an elfling. 

He continued to stroke Aragorn’s head, running his hands through his wavy dark hair, being careful not to get them caught. He was surprised the man did not wake at the touch, he had obviously exhausted himself for his sleep was a deep one. Aragorn’s mutterings died down to nothing and his frown fell away to peaceful blankness.

When Aragorn woke Legolas expected him to be angry when he realised his friend had not woken him when he’d asked him to. However, Aragorn hadn’t slept so well as he had that night in such a long time that he ended up thanking the elf for his insistence that he get a proper night’s sleep.

The company then began packing up their gear and Aragorn attempted to return to the identity of Thorongil but only his leadership and commanding voice returned, all else lost beneath his calmed and boyish demeanor, which Legolas had awakened in him. The men saw the change and thought it strange, but after everything they had seen Thorongil achieve they could no doubt cope with his numerous oddities. 

Thorongil left to discuss important matters with the next in charge, a tall nobleman of Gondor, and left Legolas to help the others pack up their few possessions and ready their horses. The men, although wary of the elf, were friendly towards him, and when they realised he spoke fluent westron, they almost treated him as they would another mortal.

“So have you all known Estel long?” Legolas asked.

One of the younger men, who was the first to pick up that ‘Estel’ was what the elf called their leader, smiled and nodded, “Yes,” he said, “we have all been in the same unit since Thorongil first arrived in Minas Tirith.”

“That is a long time,” Legolas said, feeling envious of the men who had been with Aragorn all this time, while he was not allowed to.

“Very long,” one of the older men agreed.

“You must know him well,” Legolas said, _not as well as I do,_ he thought.

“We do, yes,” said one of the others, “he is an amazing swordsman.”

“And bowman,” agreed the youngest, “it has been an honour to fight by his side.”

They all nodded, their eyes glassy with memories.

“It’s a shame he wishes to leave us now,” said another man, who had been listening from afar and only just joined the group, “you should have seen him in Haradwaith, in the battle at the Havens of Umbar!”

All those listening cheered, and Legolas raised an inquisitive eyebrow, which they saw as encouragement.

“He led us in a surprise attack,” one of the men explained, “we caught them unaware, burned and destroyed their ships and their houses,” Legolas watched as the men’s eyes brightened, “Thorongil took up his sword and he went out in front, leading us in a victorious battle.”

“He fought and he slew,” pitched in another man, “he took on the Captain of Umbar single handedly, and beheaded him.”

“There was so much blood,” someone continued, “Thorongil was absolutely drenched in it,” there was a laugh, “we thought it was his own for a while, he seemed so out of it, like he was going to collapse-”

Legolas could see the image in his head, his Aragorn standing tall with a body crippled at his feet. Aragorn would never have wanted that blood on his hands, he would never have wanted to kill another man, another Númenorean like that. Something must have forced his hand, must have changed something in him. Legolas didn’t hear the rest of the company’s excited stories; all the elf could focus on was the image of his friend covered in another’s blood, confused and angry and tearing himself apart from inside out. No wonder the man had nightmares when his “destiny”, his “fate” was so horrific.

When Aragorn returned, he returned to silence. Legolas had made it clear to the men of Rohan and Gondor that he did not think their story as entertaining and light-hearted as they seemed to, and that seemed to create a silence between them. The company climbed upon their horses and as they left Legolas turned to Aragorn and searched his face, as if looking for a speck of blood that had been previously overlooked.

“Are you alright?” Aragorn asked.

Legolas looked away and grimaced, “I don’t think either of us are,” he said, before mounting his horse.

Aragorn did not mount his own, instead he rested a hand at Nimsir’s neck to stop her from leaving, and he looked up at Legolas, “What did they say to you?” he asked.

Legolas’ frown did not waver but he lent forward and wrapped a hand round his friend’s, “Don’t ever think yourself alone, Estel,” he told him, “I will try to understand anything you say to me, and never judge you.”

Aragorn frowned in confusion, “What did they say?” he asked again, more firmly.

Legolas smiled sadly, “They told me of the battle in Haradwaith, of the Corsairs of Umbar.”

Aragorn’s expression grew cold, “What had to be done was done,” he said, pulling his hand from Legolas’ as he walked towards his own horse, “I would prefer not to dwell on it.”

Legolas did not answer as Aragorn mounted his horse and rode up to Legolas, his expression having softened, “I wanted to leave earlier,” he said, “but...” he paused, fingering the leather of his horse’s rein, “it was the reason I first traveled to Gondor, and it was personal,” he paused again, finally looking up at Legolas, “I didn’t like it,” he said, “I tried to have them cease the bloodshed, I begged them to surrender, to admit defeat,” he looked away again, “the captain had a daughter, two-years-old, and she was at home with her mother...” Aragorn’s voice cracked and he trailed off.

There was a long pause wherein all that was heard were the horses neighs and impatient huffs and then Aragorn looked up at Legolas and his eyes were glistening and cold, “I’m sick of man’s weak heart,” he said, “help me to escape it, mellon nîn,” he begged.

Legolas nodded, pitying his friend’s situation, “Let us not go to Imladris,” he said, knowing that Elrond would only worsen the situation, “Let us not go to Mirkwood, either,” he added.

Aragorn nodded, “If the Lady would permit it...” 

Legolas shook his head, “She will permit it, we will hide away from fate and expectation,” he said, resting a hand on his friend’s shoulder, “We will hide away in her timeless forest,” Legolas smiled, “just you and me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed reading this chapter. I'm really sorry about the ending of it. I thought it was a little corny and unrealistic but anyway...please leave a review, you can tell me how much you hated or surprisingly enjoyed the ending of the chapter ha ha. I'll update as soon as possible!


	13. An End

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's time to break a bond. After all, an end is building blocks of another beginning.

Arwen sat under the canopy of iridescent leaves, reading from a book with a blue cover and pale green pages. A small smile played upon her lips; but one of humour or joy, Aragorn didn’t know. If he were to step down from the balcony and talk to her then he knew what her lips might do, what words they might speak or what form they might make, and that’s why he hesitated.

Aragorn had spent years, happy years, in the company of Legolas, and apart from the lady Galadriel, he’d neither spoken with nor talked with any other living soul. Aragorn left the personality of Thorongil back in the South-East where he was killed with an elven dagger to his hair.

Aragorn spent a couple of years traveling between Mirkwood and Lothlorien, remaining by Legolas’ side and helping where he could. He refused to go by the name of Aragorn during this time, and preferred Legolas to call him Estel in private, and Strider or Ranger in public. The elf hated the name Strider, as it was a disrespectful name, and so settled for the lesser evil of Ranger.

Aragorn had been lucky enough that Arwen had not come across him during his stay in Lothlorien, for she traveled there every couple of years to visit her grandmother. Aragorn had been eluding her presence for a long while. But time waits for no one, especially a mortal, especially a mortal with a predetermined “destiny”.

Aragorn knew it was time; it was time to tell the truth and to finish his deceit once and for all. _If not now then not ever,_ he thought to himself. Aragorn sighed and turned from the balcony, slowly stepping down the illuminated stair. The keen ears of the elf heard his footsteps, despite how carefully and quietly he walked. She looked up from her book, and her smile widened when she saw Aragorn. She leaped from her seat and threw her arms around his neck.

“Oh, I’ve missed you, Aragorn,” she whispered, and he could feel her smile against his shoulder.

He gently pushed Arwen back, holding her by her arms, “I’m sorry that we have not spoken in so long,” he told her, and here it was, the point where his words would eat her happiness, “much has happened.”

He looked up to see her frown, “What has happened?” she asked.

“We must stop,” Aragorn faltered, unsure of how to word his sentence, “We can’t...”

Arwen looked confused, “What do you mean?” she asked.

“I free you from your oath,” he told her.

She gave a soft incredulous laugh, “Did my father talk with you? Did my grandmother?” her face grew serious, “If they threatened you...”

Aragorn shook his head, “No,” he said, “They did not.”

“Then what,” she demanded, pulling away from his grasp, “What has happened? Why do you speak like this?”

He ignored her questions, and fiddled with the ring upon his finger. Elves did not give promise rings, but instead any matter of important items. She must have known something was wrong when he did not give her something in return for her evenstar. Aragorn took from his pocket the silver jewel and chain, and stepped forward. Arwen flinched as he raised the necklace to her neck and she closer her eyes as a pained expression fell upon her face.

He bit the inside of his cheek as he fastened the clasp on the chain and let the jewel sit upon her breast. She seemed to concave around it, like the jewel was causing her physical pain.

“I release you from your oath,” he repeated.

She began to shake at the words, and tears immerged from in between her eyelashes, falling as twinkling lights to the stone below. She was shaking uncontrollably, and Aragorn had to lead her to the stone bench to stop her from falling over. He knelt in front of her and looked away, and his throat felt like it were filled with burning coal, as he tried to think of some way to make any of this easier. He fingered the ring upon his finger one last time before removing it.

“Please take this token as recompense for my discourteous and offensively changeable attitude towards you,” he told her, holding it out.

She opened her eyes and she blinked away the murky waters to see him, “The ring of Barahir?” she spluttered.

“...for any extra pain I may have caused,” Aragorn continued in a rush, “I know it is not much but I hope the only heirloom of my House that I have, may mend the bond between us so that we may continue to be friends.”

She looked away and her blue eyes sparkled with anger, “I don’t want your pity item,” she told him, “you can’t buy me out of my love for you.”

Aragorn felt tears forming in his own eyes at the pain he was causing her, “Please, my Lady,” he whispered, trying to make her understand, “It is as I say, I promise you,” he cupped her cheek with one hand but she pulled away from the touch.

“Lady?” She turned on him, “Why this formality, Aragorn?” she asked, “We were to be married,” she whispered, and then she looked to him, and through her tears seemed serious, “Tell me what has happened, tell me the truth and I’ll say no more.”

Aragorn nodded, _it will hurt her but it is what she asks,_ he thought, “I do not love you as much as you love me,” he said slowly, looking down at his hand, which gripped the stone bench.

Another tear met Arwen’s trembling lips as he spoke, but she did not say anything. Then she raised a hand to the ring outstretched to her and clasped her hand over his without taking it or pulling away.

“Look in my eyes and tell me you do not love me,” she said.

Aragorn bit the inside of his cheek but looked up at the Lady, and without blinking said, “You are a good friend, Lady Arwen, you are like a sister to me...but I could never love you more than that,” he sighed, “Goheno nin, dan gin ú-velin.” (Forgive me, but I do not love you.)

Arwen nodded shakily and took his ring, “I will remain immortal and return to Imladris without another question.” she told him sternly. Then she soften and seemed to shrink, she watched her hands as she fingered the ring he’d given her.

“Is there another woman?” she asked, “You are not entitled to tell me but I must ask,” she hurriedly added, and then more quietly and with a little fearful stutter she asked, “Have you been with her all this time?”

“My answers are the least I can give to you after I’ve caused you such pain,” Aragorn told her, “I do love another but I have not once thought of betraying you’re trust.”

She nodded, and sighed, “I believe you, Aragorn,” she told him, and she sounded relieved, though her voice was still a sad and lonely sound, “I know you enough to know you would not lie to me,” she wiped away her tears, “I had a feeling that this day would come,” she admitted, “as soon as you knew who you were you’ve grown distant from me, every time I see you changing, becoming someone I no longer know, a stranger.”

Aragorn didn’t know how to react to that, _how long has she been in pain?_ he asked himself in anger, _how much pain has been caused by my birth?_ he pulled her into a hug and she hung limp in his arms as she began to shake with another onslaught of tears. 

\--

**Blue print for Dictionary below:  
 **Sindarin** /Quenya – Translation - _Literal Meaning_**

****In order of first appearance to last:****  
 **Goheno nin, dan gin ú-velin** – Forgive me, but I do not love you – _Forgive me, but I don’t love you._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I've got exams literally round the corner so I hope you don't mind if there's a bit of a gap between this chapter and the next. I know this chapter's also particularly short and so I apologise profusely for it but I couldn't really write anymore without just rambling...I hope you enjoyed this chapter, I have the next planned and as you can see from this chapter we're finally getting somewhere. *hint, hint* 
> 
> Please leave a comment!  
> Thank you all for the lovely comments, I'll see you after exams! - LLAP


	14. You're Flawed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Legolas tensed in shock and drew back quickly. His teeth clenched in surprise, and his eyes wide and unblinking as he stared back at his friend, who watched him unsurely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey look I survived exams! I literally had my last one today. But I'm so sorry for the long wait. I hope that the content of this chapter makes up for it. Wait, what...Is this what you've all been waiting for? Answer: Um...yes and no and maybe. Read and find out. ;D

The dull dawn was cold. Leafless trees stood sleepily, leaning this way or that under the weight of morning dew. An elf and a man, moved swiftly and quietly along a track at the foot of the Misty Mountains. The man searched the ground for footprints as the elf watched the land for the maker of them.

“This doesn’t make any sense,” Aragorn said after a while, having lost the orc trail long ago.

“The trees are silent here, and there’s no bird nor beast about,” Legolas answered, “They must have passed here not long ago.”

“And yet they made no tracks?” Aragorn asked, “Or at least none that I can find.”

“That’s very discouraging,” Legolas frowned, “They can’t have known we were following them.”

“They were orcs, weren’t they,” Aragorn asked, “and yet I’ve not met an orc who can pull of a disappearing act like that.”

“I saw them myself,” Legolas replied, “They were orcs.”

“Let’s double back,” Aragorn replied, as he turned back the way they’d come, “let’s find their tracks; then we can see where we took the wrong turn.”

Legolas nodded, and the two set off once more, hurrying along the dirt track. It wasn’t long till they came across the footprints in the dirt once more, and upon revised inspection both agreed that the tracks were orc-made. But the footprints seemed to become confused in that area, as if there had been a fight amongst the group and one had set off along the track alone. Those footprints had led both man and elf astray for they now realised that the orc had doubled back to the confusion of footprints. Aragorn bent down to the dirt and touched the indents with his fingers, calculating how many feet there were and where each stood and moved.

“They all eventually turned towards the rocks,” Aragorn final concluded, “there must be a secret passage.”

Legolas raised an eyebrow, “This is far too clever a trick for an orc,” the elf said wearily, “We should go back to Lórien, gather a garrison and return here tomorrow.”

 _They’d have long since moved on,_ Aragorn thought, _we can manage a couple of orcs, and if there are more than we thought we can always leave and return tomorrow._ But he didn’t reply to Legolas as he searched the rocks and boulders. He edged between them and gave an exclamation of triumph.

“There’s a hole in the rocks here,” he called back to Legolas, carefully twisting back around before climbing out from between the boulders.

“I don’t like the sound of that,” Legolas replied.

“It could be a hiding place,” the man said.

“Or it could be their dwelling, which would mean they’d have the upper hand,” the elf replied, his hands twitching with anxiety, “we don’t know how many would be down there.”

“Very few, I’d expect,” Aragorn replied, tearing some cloth off from his already tattered cape, and tying it to a stick, “Orcs are not meant for caves, they like the dark but they prefer the shade of open spaces than the pits where far more wicked things are found,” he then revealed some flint, which he’d kept in a pocket in his shirt, “Goblins are only found in caves because they’re stupid.”

“And Dwarves?” the elf asked, raising an eyebrow.

Aragorn chuckled, as he struck the flints together, “Dwarves are too proud a race, and they love their caves far too dearly to run, just as you love your forest. You did not despair or abandon it when the necromancer’s darkness began to seep into it.”

The tattered cloth suddenly caught fire as the flint struck a spark, and Aragorn raised it up, not bothering to shield it from any breeze – for there wasn’t one.

“No,” Aragorn continued, “instead you called on the white council and they banished the darkness for you and life went on.”

Legolas smirked at his friend, “Caves are different worlds, mellon nîn.”

“Which is why neither the orcs nor we have the upper hand,” Aragorn concluded squeezing between the boulders and looking down into the hole, “It’s not too deep,” he told Legolas, “half my height to the rock below and I can just make out the floor beyond that, we might have to bend slightly to walk but it does not look to be too uncomfortable.”

“As long as I have room to fight I don’t care what it looks like down there,” Legolas replied from behind.

“It will be difficult but these orcs are man-size.”

Aragorn sat down on the edge of the hole and slowly lowered himself into it, making sure not to drop the torch he had made. He then bent low and held the torch aloft, searching the shadows for any orc or other creature. The cave sloped downwards but it was empty of enemies, or at least it was too dark for Aragorn to see any. He met his friend’s eyes and gave a reassuring smile.

“All’s clear as far as I can tell,” he told him.

Legolas paused wearily before lowering himself down into the hole and stepping down to the floor beside Aragorn. 

“See,” Aragorn told him, turning back to the tunnel ahead.

Not even a second had passed before Legolas cried out to Aragorn in warning, prompting the man to leap out of whatever danger Legolas had heard or seen. Not too long after there was a thundering clatter of rocks behind the two as the tunnel caved in behind them. Aragorn stumbled and fell to his knees, spluttering and blinking in the cloud of dust. 

“Legolas,” Aragorn called between coughs, “Legolas are you-”

“I’m alright,” Legolas spluttered beside him.

“It was a trap,” Aragorn muttered aloud. _That’s it blunder in without thought or plan,_ he thought angrily.

It took the two a few moments before they had recovered. Aragorn sighed in relief when he saw that their torch had not been smothered; at least they had that small mercy. He blew at it, rekindling its strength and stood, holding the torch up to see the extent of the damage behind them. The hole had not just been filled, it had collapsed altogether and the remains of it now lay in a clump of boulders and rocks half the size of a man but with the weight of three or four.

“It was a trap,” Aragorn muttered again in frustration.

Legolas gave one last cough before walking over to stand beside him, “I-If it was a-a trap it was not one made by orcs,” he said, and Aragorn turned to his friend in worry. _Had he just stumbled over his words?_ But the elf continued, and he spoke clearly, “Or at least planned by a more intelligent being and carried out by orcs,” he reasoned.

“Even so,” Aragorn replied, _must have been a trick of the mind,_ he thought, “Either planned or not, whether orc-made or not,” he gave a sigh, “We’re trapped, and it’s my blind eagerness which has trapped us.”

“Don’t blame yourself,” Legolas told him, placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

Aragorn turned back to the tunnel ahead, “Onwards then,” he said, and the light of his torch flickered deep red as if in sullen agreement.

They traveled slowly and carefully along the cave tunnel, which continued to lead them downwards. It was not entirely encouraging, who knew what danger lived in the unexplored tunnels below the Misty Mountains. Aragorn had heard of creatures, which supposedly dwelled under the Mountains, which had not been seen since the evil days of Morgoth’s darkness. Aragorn hoped the tunnel did not lead to a dead end, or worse to one of those creatures. 

They walked on, stopping now and then to rest. Aragorn’s clothing lay upon him in a heavy stickiness and his throat yearned for water and fresh air. The cave air was stuffy, warm and moist, which was not a good sign; it taunted the back of his throat with the promise of water but there was no underground lake or stream in sight or hearing. The two fell into silence, listening and hoping for the trickling of a stream or for birdsong, and dreading noises of the other kind, of the snorting or breathing of mysterious creatures. After what seemed like hours of silence there was a grunt behind Aragorn, and he turned to see Legolas steadying himself on the wall of the tunnel. 

“Are you alright?” Aragorn asked his friend.

“Yes-” Legolas voice broke and Aragorn frowned, suddenly very anxious for his friend, “I’m- I’m fine...” Legolas finished shakily.

Aragorn held up his torch so as to see his friend’s face, and his eyes widened. Legolas was not ‘fine’. The elf’s forehead was covered in a thin sheen of sweat, and he looked extremely pale in the gloom, almost translucent.

“Legolas,” Aragorn asked worriedly, “What’s wrong?”

Legolas gave a soft shaky laugh, “I don’t like caves,” he said.

Aragorn continued to stare, still slightly shocked by his friend’s state. He had never seen Legolas act in such a way in all the years he’d known him. He was the bravest person he knew, never backing down from a fight, and certainly never fearful, and yet here he was in what Aragorn could only describe as ‘utter fear’.

Legolas looked up and found Aragorn staring at him, “What?” he asked.

“I’ve never seen you frightened before,” Aragorn replied.

Legolas felt a pang of hurt at that. _What did he expect? That I was perfect?_ “I don’t like caves,” Legolas repeated through his teeth.

Legolas closed his eyes and tried not to think about the cave and the darkness and the fact that meters of rock sat on shaky foundations and separated him and the fresh air and light above. _What if I never see the light again? What if we’re trapped like this? Fresh air, I need fresh air...I can’t breath, I can’t breathe._ “Can we...can we just-“ Legolas managed, despite feeling breathless, “-continue, please...” 

Aragorn seemed to break out of whatever thoughts he’d fallen into and helped the elf to his shaky feet, “Don’t worry we’ll find our way out in no time at all,” he said. 

“I dearly hope so,” Legolas replied.

“Come on, mellon nîn.”

The cave began to slope upwards after a while. Aragorn checked on his friend now and then to make sure he was all right but Legolas seemed to have recovered. Aragorn was still shocked by Legolas’ reaction, he’d never seen an elf show any large amount of emotion, and though Legolas had shown happiness, empathy and the like, he’d certainly never shown fear. _Though,_ Aragorn thought, _if Legolas were to fear something it made sense that it was caves._ Finally Legolas placed a hand on Aragorn’s arm and with a breath of joy said he could hear birdsong. Finally the tunnel’s stuffiness diminished and the two felt the pull of fresh air. They were immensely relief at the good news and hurried their pace. 

Aragorn was so eager to get out of the dank tunnel that he nearly walked straight into the cave wall when it loomed ahead. He searched the darkness for the tunnel, _it must make a sharp turn_ , he thought, and then his heart skipped a beat when he realised there was no more tunnel. _But there was fresh air!_ he thought, angrily, _it can’t have come through a small hole, could it?_ His torch flickered as if in agreement.

“There,” he said, “There’s a breeze coming from somewhere.” 

He scanned the area with his torch in frantic worry and realised with relif that the wall was not in fact a wall. It was only the roof of the tunnel slanting down into a small gap. Aragorn knelt on his knees and held out his torch to look ahead but could not see an end to the small tunnel. He felt a breeze coming from it but, _It could get smaller,_ he thought worriedly. 

“I’ll go first,” Aragorn decided.

Legolas didn’t argue, and Aragorn wandered whether or not he would if he could. Aragorn placed the torch end in his mouth and bent down, wriggling through the tight gap. He had to bend and twist and at one point take the torch out of his mouth and tilt his head sideways to get through. The torch went out in his struggle but he continued to carry it, not wanting to deter Legolas when he had to crawl in after Aragorn. He grunted and wriggled but finally felt fresh air on his sweat-covered face. Aragorn looked up at the sky, it was dusk, and he breathed in the beautiful crisp air, before quickly turning back for Legolas. He couldn’t see him, the small gap must have been longer than he’d thought. 

“Legolas!?” Aragorn called, “Legolas!”

“Yes!?,” was the quick and worried reply, “Are you alright?”

“Yes, I’m fine,” Aragorn replied, “I’m through! Just a bit of a tight squeeze and then you’re out!”

There was silence.

“Legolas?” Aragorn called again in worry.

“Y-yes, just...” there was a pause, “just wait.”

Aragorn waited patiently, kneeling in front of the small tunnel so as to aid Legolas if he had trouble. After a while Aragorn began to hear Legolas’ harsh breaths, which alerted him to his approach. Every now and then Aragorn heard a whimper and the scuffling stopped or grew frantic, in those times Aragorn made soothing comments of encouragement, even though he couldn’t see Legolas yet.

“Come on, you’re nearly there,” Aragorn kept saying, “just a bit more and then you’re out.”

“I can’t...I can’t...please don’t make me.”

“It’s alright,” Aragorn promised, “just take a break, deep breaths.”

Finally Aragorn saw Legolas and when the elf faltered once more Aragorn crawled in partly and reached for his hand. Legolas jumped at the touch but then encircled his clammy hands around Aragorn’s wrists.

“I’ll pull you out the rest of the way,” Aragorn said, “just tell me if it hurts and I’ll stop.”

There was a mumble, and Aragorn began slowly to pull Legolas the rest of the way out. When they were completely out of the tunnel Legolas collapsed onto his back and began focusing on his breathing. Aragorn knelt beside him; Legolas’ was shaking and the moonlight seemed to reflect off of his pale clammy skin. 

Aragorn had to stop himself from making a comment on Legolas’ appearance and instead just sat beside him and rested a hand on his friend’s shoulder, “It’s alright,” he said, “deep breaths, you’re out in the open now.”

After a while Legolas calmed down and pulled himself up into a sitting position. He pulled his legs up to his chest and lay his head on them, “I apologise for my behavior,” he said.

Aragorn frowned, “You don’t need to apologise-”

“I’ve not been scared like that since my hundred and twentieth year,” Legolas repeated, “It was disgraceful.”

Aragorn laughed at the idiocy of Legolas’ words, “Don’t be ashamed, it’s perfectly natural to feel fear.”

Legolas looked up at Aragorn who pulled at his cloak to get a bit of the cleaner edge and dabbed the sweat from Legolas’ forehead. Legolas didn’t meet Aragorn’s eyes as he did this, instead choosing to look away. _Why is he ashamed?_ Aragorn thought, _He never makes a mistake, he’s always so brave, he’s perfect..._ Aragorn paused in thought, _but he’s not is he? He’s flawed just like me, and this proves it._

“You’re laughing at me,” Legolas said.

Aragorn blinked and realised he’d been smiling to himself, “I’m not,” he promised, taking his hand away, “I’ve always thought elves were perfect,” he smiled again, “and this just proves you’re not,” he told Legolas.

Legolas sighed in exasperation, “Of course we’re not perfect,” he said, “Its called honour, Aragorn.”

Aragorn shrugged, “You’re allowed to feel fear, there’s nothing wrong with it.”

“There is if you are the King’s son,” Legolas muttered.

“You’re forgetting that I’m the heir to a throne too,” Aragorn told him, “I’m terrified most of the time,” he admitted, “but because of our blood we have to continuously face that fear.”

Legolas turned to Aragorn and laughed, “I do hope you don’t plan on me visiting any more caves any time soon.”

Aragorn laughed in response. Legolas looked worn out but even so his eyes shone with happiness as he laughed. _He’s flawed, like me,_ Aragorn thought again, still giddy with the idea of it. Legolas had always seemed so perfect, with his golden hair, and beautiful eyes – like strange stars. 

“Are you all right?” Legolas suddenly asked.

Aragorn blinked and realised he’d been staring, “I...” He wasn’t sure what to say, he didn’t know if he _was_ all right, “No,” he finally said.

Legolas frowned, “What’s the matter?” he asked.

Aragorn didn’t reply as he raised a hand to Legolas’ face. He couldn’t take it anymore. Aragorn stroked Legolas’ cheek with his thumb and stared at the elf. Legolas stared back but didn’t speak or move. 

“Goheno nin (forgive me),” Aragorn whispered, before pressing a quick kiss to Legolas’ lips.

Legolas tensed in shock and drew back quickly. His teeth clenched in surprise, and his eyes wide and unblinking as he stared back at his friend, who watched him unsurely. Aragorn’s heart thundered in his chest. He searched Legolas’ eyes for some sort of sign, and he tried to speak but he didn’t know what to say. He knew it was a mistake as soon as he saw Legolas turn away. _I’d needed to know,_ Aragorn thought, _it’s better to know now than to not know at all,_ but despite the logic of his thoughts a bubble had formed in his throat and he felt sick with the thought that Legolas might not want to ever speak to him again.

\--  
**Blue print for Dictionary below:  
**Sindarin** /Quenya – Translation - _Literal Meaning_**

 ** **In order of first appearance to last:****  
**Goheno nin** – Sorry – _Forgive me_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried to make it sound as unsappy as possible but it got pretty sappy by 3/4 of the way through. Anyway I hope you enjoyed it and are excited to read more. I know I left it on a cliffhanger and I'm sorry, especially after the long wait, but I promise you'll get an update soon! I hope my writing hasn't grown worse since I've last written a chapter - I know it was only a couple of weeks ago but if I don't write for that long I sometimes find it hard to restart again. Please leave a comment!
> 
> Credit for the photos used in this fanfiction goes to Alef, who graciously allowed me to post them in my story. Alef, and their other cosplays - which are brilliant so definitely check them out!! - can be found on [Deviantart](http://the-alef.deviantart.com/) and [Tumblr](http://alef-art.tumblr.com/).


	15. And that’s why I love you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Legolas stared at the ground, as his mind reeled with thoughts. He had no idea where the kiss had come from, and felt breathless and uneasy; he could hardly believe it had happened. But then he paused and considered it.

“Goheno nin (forgive me),” Aragorn whispered, before pressing a quick kiss to Legolas’ lips.

Legolas tensed in shock and drew back quickly. His teeth clenched in surprise, and his eyes wide and unblinking as he stared back at his friend, who watched him unsurely. Aragorn’s heart thundered in his chest. He searched Legolas’ eyes for some sort of sign, and he tried to speak but he didn’t know what to say. He knew it was a mistake as soon as he saw Legolas turn away. _I’d needed to know,_ Aragorn thought, _it’s better to know now than to not know at all,_ but despite the logic of his thoughts a bubble had formed in his throat and he felt sick with the thought that Legolas might not want to ever speak to him again.

Legolas stared at the ground, as his mind reeled with thoughts. He had no idea where the kiss had come from, and felt breathless and uneasy; he could hardly believe it had happened. But then he paused and considered it. _I was always jealous of Arwen,_ he thought, _I care for Aragorn, I’ve always cared for him._ The elf frowned and tried to understand the uncomfortable pull in his stomach. _I hate it when he’s not by my side; it’s torture to think of him in danger,_ he reasoned. _He’s my friend; it’s understandable that I should worry. But that doesn’t mean..._ Legolas raised a hand to his lips absent-mindedly. They tingled with the memory of that short-lived kiss. _But I can’t imagine a world without him. He’s...everything._ Legolas turned to Aragorn, _Is this why?_ he thought.

Legolas’ blue eyes met Aragorn’s stormy grey. They were cold – coldness not focused on Legolas – and yet also understanding like the man had assumed to be rejected and had accepted it. Legolas gave a small unsure smile, which had meant to be reassuring but instead Aragorn’s disheartened look saddened.

“Truthfully I do not quite understand exactly what just happened,” Legolas told Aragorn truthfully. 

Aragorn broke eye contact and looked down, before nodding in understanding. Legolas was about to continue when there was a sudden gush of wind. The two were damp with sweat from their struggle through the cave but out in the open the air was freezing. Aragorn attempted to suppress a shiver but failed miserably, and the elf noticed.

“I think we need to discuss a couple of things,” Legolas said, “but first we should find shelter for the night and build a fire.”

They found a shallow cave with an overhang and sheltered in its shadow. Legolas collected sticks and dried plants and Aragorn struck his flints to make fire. Once the two were settled down beside the crackling flames of their small fire their minds, no longer occupied by necessity, fell back onto the difficult subject they had left unresolved.

Legolas was the first to speak, and as he did so he stared at his clasped hands as they fidgeted with something akin to nervousness, “You left Arwen because of a woman,” Legolas said slowly, “Who is she?” he asked.

Aragorn didn’t answer immediately and Legolas looked up to see him leaning against the rock wall with his arms crossed. His eyes were trained on the ceiling of the cave. 

“Aragorn?” Legolas asked, and he swallowed worriedly. He wasn’t sure if there was a woman or not, and if there was then he didn’t want to be in the middle of it... _But what if there isn’t?_ he thought.

Aragorn sighed and looked away, “There isn’t a woman,” he said, “I left Arwen because I couldn’t stop thinking of...” he paused, “of you,” he finished.

Legolas nodded slowly and to himself. Aragorn turned to watch him, his eyes searching for repulsion or sadness. Legolas looked up and met Aragorn’s gaze. 

“So what was that?” he asked, gesturing out into the dark of the night.

Aragorn breathed in slowly and let out a long sigh. _This is it,_ he thought, _I explain everything now and he...Legolas, he’ll..._ Aragorn chided himself, _It’s probably too late anyway._ He paused, unsure of what to say exactly. _Damn it,_ he thought.

Aragorn turned to Legolas, “You were the first person to speak to me as an equal, no one else ever did,” he began, “You didn’t care that I was mortal, you didn’t care that I was so young,” he gave a small smile as his eyes glazed over, wanting to get everything out in the open before Legolas’ expression made him stop. 

“You just wanted to spend time with me for no reason. You taught me everything I value now. Elrond and the twins taught me how to fight, how to defend myself, how to be courteous and all about Gondor. But you taught me how to be a boy, how to have fun, how to be myself and how to stand up for what I believed in.”

“You comforted me, spent time with me, talked or just sat with me, you gave guidance and reassurance with no ulterior motives. Everyone else had to be kind to me, had to like me and teach me, because I was the heir.” Aragorn sighed. 

“You didn’t care. There was no formality between us, there never had been. You have always been my friend and mentor, I have looked up to you and wanted nothing more than to tell you all this. It isn’t even the beginning of what I want to tell you. I love your kindness and your intelligence, your need to do what’s right, and I love how you tell me when I’m at fault. I love your faults.” 

“I have grown to lov-,” Aragorn paused before continuing slowly, “I have considered something more than just friendship, though I have never acted because I thought you would...” Aragorn trailed off and when his brain did not supply him with more words he looked at Legolas.   

Legolas was staring at Aragorn, his keen eyes watching every worried crease and in his truth-filled smile. He saw the passion in Aragorn’s eyes and knew he spoke things he had never had the courage to speak aloud before. Aragorn’s words fell strangely upon Legolas’ ears but he felt his heart warm at Aragorn’s words.

“I...” he found himself speaking before he knew exactly what he planned to say, “I don’t know exactly how to respond,” he said truthfully, “I feel the same, Aragorn,” Legolas said, giving an unsure smile, “I think I do,” he added.

Aragorn looked hopeful and Legolas felt odd as he considered the idea. But he knew what would happen if they continued and it made him pause. 

“But,” Legolas said, “I’m hesitant...Not because I don’t want to or because I don’t feel something,” he said, reassuring Aragorn, “There’s so many reasons why we shouldn’t,” he said.

Aragorn felt giddy and lent forwards quickly to take Legolas’ hand, “But there’s so many reasons why we should,” he said, capturing Legolas’ eyes in his own and giving a genuinely happy smile, “I would never push you into this but I want you to know that I respect your decisions,” he told him, “I can live without this, but I can’t live without you. If you decide that we can’t do this I’ll respect that, but please never leave me,” he said.

“I would never leave you,” the elf promised, “But what about our gender, race or duty?” he asked, “and don’t forget our age?”

Aragorn raised a hand to Legolas’ cheek, “I don’t care about any of that,” he said, “We’ve faced orcs and goblins. We can face the tongue of man and elf.”

Legolas stared at Aragorn and in his grey eyes, which shone with confidence and hope, he could see a possible future with the man he now realised he must love. He couldn’t take it anymore. He could suddenly see everything that he had never known he’d wanted. He wanted to say yes to the man. He wanted, no needed, to stress how definite a ‘yes’ it would be, and he knew exactly how. 

Aragorn made a muffled exclamation of shock as Legolas lent forwards and captured the man’s lips in his own. Aragorn’s lips were chapped and rough in comparison to Legolas’ own, and for a second Aragorn worried that the elf would dislike it but that second passed quickly. All Aragorn could think about was that he was kissing the person he had admired for so long, who had been a teacher and friend, and who he had grown to want as something more.

Legolas put everything into the kiss, pressing himself up against Aragorn, who cupped Legolas’ neck and kissed back just as passionately. Aragorn tried to lean back against the elf but Legolas got a little carried away and both of them fell backwards onto the rock floor, Legolas landing atop Aragorn. 

Legolas pressed his face against Aragorn’s chest, “sorry,” he mumbled. 

Aragorn laughed loudly in response, and Legolas joined in. Aragorn lent up and pressed a soft kiss to the elf’s lips and Legolas smiled down at the man.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this chapter. It was probably the hardest one to write. Don’t worry we’re nowhere near finished. I’ll update as soon as possible! Please leave a comment, thank you.
> 
> Credit for the photos used in this fanfiction goes to Alef, who graciously allowed me to post them in my story. Alef, and their other cosplays - which are brilliant so definitely check them out!! - can be found on [Deviantart](http://the-alef.deviantart.com/) and [Tumblr](http://alef-art.tumblr.com/).


	16. Melin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A scout reveals some interesting and terrifying news of a rising evil. Aragorn and Legolas must inform the White Council...but that can wait for now.

Aragorn and Legolas treaded carefully through the undergrowth, weapons already drawn. They’d been tracking a troop of orcs along the outskirts of Fangorn, where the forest met the cliffs of the Misty Mountains. These orcs were faster and less predictable than any the two had faced before, and their motive for straying so far from their dark den troubled both elf and man. Legolas sudden raised a hand, having heard some noise.

“Man te?” (What is it?) Aragorn asked.

“Orcs,” Legolas answered, “Close,” he paused and frowned, “they’re talking amongst each other,” and he quickly and quietly hurried along the edges of the rocks with Aragorn in tow.

The elf suddenly stooped low and peered from behind a cover of tree and rocks, with Aragorn kneeling beside him. There were three orcs, all dressed in strange armour that fit with their unpredictable behavior. Aragorn was about to ask Legolas what the plan was when a large and hideous troll emerged from the shadows of the cliffs. The two watched in astonishment. _It was lucky we did not reveal ourselves immediately,_ Aragorn thought, _we wouldn’t have been prepared._ The three orcs stopped their arguments and scattered, their backs hunched and their heads moving this way and that like nervous lizards.

“Just orcs,” the troll said, as if it had expected some other creature to wander by its den; It spoke in a far less threatening tone than one would imagine - it was high pitched, and stupidly slow. 

“Nasty tasting orcs,” it muttered, sighing and looking about, “I’m fed up of ‘em,” it said, “but food’s food,” it said as it turned back to them.

“We ain’t come here ta be your meal,” one of the orcs said; it had one bulging eye, while the other was shut tight like it had been previously damaged, “We have an offer for you.”

Aragorn turned to Legolas and exchanged a raised eyebrow. It looked like they had stumbled on far more than they had bargained for.

“Oh yeah?” the troll raised a hand to scratch its back, looking down on the orcs as if it were more intelligent, “What offer?” it asked.

“He’s returning,” one of the others snarled.

Aragorn frowned. _Who did they mean?_ he thought, _Could it be the necromancer which had once threatened Mirkwood? Or perhaps something worse?_ For reasons unknown Aragorn’s mind wandered to the stories he had been told by Elrond; the stories of the once and mighty Númenor and the dark creature which aided its destruction. He thought of the Dark Lord who was defeated by Isildur, and he felt his heart grow cold.

The troll took a step backwards, seemingly afraid by the news, “Nah” he finally said, shaking his bulbous head, “I don’t believe you.”

“He is and He wants your services,” the third said, before giving a hacking cough.

The first orc snickered, “His dark tower is filled with orcs, and deep pits of fire hold screaming prisoners. But He needs orcs and trolls to run the pits, to build the armour.”

“Hmm,” the troll seemed to consider the idea, “and what do I get in return?” it asked.

The second orc gave a sinister smirk, “He’ll feed you man flesh and when he’s won the land will be shriveled and dead and no one will be strong enough to hunt or kill you.”

“But He won’t let you live a day if you decline,” bulging-eye said.

The troll raised a fat hand to his chin, “Hmm,” he finally said, “I’ll work in His pits but I ain’t moving till tomorrow night, I ain’t had nothing t’ eat,” he said eyeing the orcs; he then sniffed the air and turned in the direction Aragorn and Legolas hid, “and I’m hungry.”

It began to lumber over to their hiding spot and Aragorn quickly turned to Legolas, “Can you handle the troll?” he asked.

Legolas nodded and pressed a quick kiss to Aragorn’s lips before running in the opposite direction, leaping up the rocks for a higher vantage point. Aragorn sprinted around from the rocks, unsheathing his sword and spinning to give the full force of his right arm’s swing. The first orc spluttered in surprise; it had been too preoccupied by Legolas’ sudden appearance and had suffered the entirety of Aragorn’s blow. Its eyes widen and its tongue lolled as Aragorn’s sword sliced through its neck. Its body – cut in two – toppled to the ground. A gurgling escaped the decapitated head as black blood oozed from within the stump of the body. The other orcs, who had watched with little mourning for their fellow orc’s untimely end, spluttered and growled, their heads weaving back and forth as they advanced on Aragorn with frothing fury.

Legolas, from his rocky perch, shoots arrow after arrow at the troll. Four out of five bury deep in its skin, which begins to bubble and tear with sticky green-black blood. The last bounces off, stamped into the mud by the troll’s furious stomping. It growls and its beady eyes search out the elf with murderous intent. It charges and Legolas waits till the last moment before letting another arrow fly. It shoots straight into the creature’s mouth and through the back of its throat. The creature stumbled backwards before crashing to the floor with a thump.

Aragorn stepped over the second orc’s unmoving form as he slowly approached the third and last orc. The orc snarled and slashed out with its bloodstained weapon, Aragorn met the blow with a block, and swung his sword round, taking the orc’s small knife-like weapon with it. In any other circumstance the orc would have been disarmed and Aragorn could have thrust his sword straight through the creature; But these circumstance proved to be different. The orc held on tight to its weapon, pulling back and thrusting forwards. The blade caught on Aragorn’s arm but it was a shallow cut and Aragorn managed to smash the hilt of his sword to the orc’s chest armour forcing it backwards. Its grip on its knife loosened as it tried to gain balance and Aragorn took the opportunity to thrust his sword in-between creature’s chest plate and shoulder guard. The creature cried out and fell to its knees. Its dark eyes watched Aragorn with loathing as it waited for the man’s killing blow. Instead Aragorn stepped backwards, but kept one hand on the hilt of his sword.

Aragorn breathed in and out, feeling jittery from the adrenaline, “Who is He?” he demanded.

Legolas who had watched from his perch climbed down to stand beside his companion. The orc looked between them both and gave a horrible smirk, which showed off its yellow and black teeth. It moved its head shakily and coughed.

“Who is it that you spoke of?” Aragorn demanded once again, jolting his sword so as to emphasis his words.

The orc cried out and spluttered before looking back to the man and elf, “My master, and your doom,” it croaked, giving a terrible laugh, which turned into a wet cough.

“Listen here,” he said, bending low so that he was eye-level with the creature, “My name is Aragorn Elessar, heir of Isildur,” he spat, “and whom ever or _whatever_ your master is, I _will_ find it and I _will_ kill it.”

The creature’s eyes widened at the revelation but it didn’t seem any more frightened than that.

“So are you going to tell me or not?” Aragorn snarled.

The creature scowled but said no more. 

Aragorn gripped the hilt of his sword, “Have it your way, then,” he said, before thrusting the weapon further into the creature with a twist of his wrist and pulling it out just as roughly. The orc and troll’s blood filled the air with a putrid stench Aragorn turned and walked passed Legolas, who wrapped a hand around his wrist to stop him from passing him.

“Estel?”

Aragorn pulled away and took a dead leaf from the forest floor, wiping the black blood from his sword as he began walking away from the foul scene. Legolas followed after Aragorn who sheathed his sword as he continued to walk away. When they were far enough away from the place that the stench no longer invaded their nostrils Legolas placed a hand on his friend’s shoulder and Aragorn turned to find the elf staring at him worriedly.

“What do you think it is?” Aragorn demanded a little too firmly, anger still pulsing through his muscles. Legolas gave a small frown and Aragorn nodded, “That’s what I thought,” he said.

“We’ll find it,” Legolas said, “Together, whatever threat it poses we’ll find it and stop it.”

Aragorn looked down, “The orc wasn’t frightened, it knew my name but it wasn’t afraid.”

“It was close to death,” Legolas responded, “It had nothing to fear.”

“No,” Aragorn shook his head, “The creature knows I am no threat to its master,” he said, “Those creatures care for nothing but blood, violence and death, it’s own life is nothing when it knows it has already won.”

Legolas frowned.

“It knows it has already won,” Aragorn repeated.

Legolas let out a sigh and pulled Aragorn towards him, forcing the man to look into his eyes, “You can’t assume so much from such a deceitful creature,” he smiled reassuringly, “You underestimate your ability. Orcs are simple monsters bred for violence, blood and death, as you said.”

Aragorn nodded slowly, “But orcs and trolls working together?” he asked, “We must warn the White Council.”

“We will,” Legolas said, pulling Aragorn close and pressing his lips to his.

Aragorn kissed back. He still felt giddy every time he kissed the elf. Kissing Legolas was nothing like kissing Arwen. Arwen was lovely to kiss; her lips soft and inviting, sweet, loving and passionate. But kissing Legolas was intoxicating; his mind went blank and all he could focus on was Legolas. Aragorn brought his hands up to cup Legolas face, deepening the kiss. Legolas pressed his body up against Aragorn who was forced back until he hit a tree.

Aragorn’s fingers hooked themselves into Legolas’ blond hair, his thumb brushing over the tips of the elf’s pointed ears. Aragorn moaned and tugged at Legolas hair, leaving the elf’s lips to kiss along his pale jawline. He wanted to know every single inch of Legolas, he wanted to know and kiss every single inch. Legolas’ bared his throat to Aragorn as he kissed down his throat. One hand found its way around Legolas’ middle, pulling him close, while the other cupped the elf’s face, his thumb absent-mindedly brushing the tip of the elf’s ear. Legolas suddenly bucked into Aragorn who groaned in pain when he smacked into a knob on the tree. 

Legolas pulled back worriedly and gave an apologetic smile, “Sorry,” he said.

Aragorn laughed, and began to kneel, pulling Legolas down with him. The elf smiled, before licking his lips and pulling Aragorn into another kiss. Aragorn’s hands found their way to Legolas’ tunic. He slowly pulled Legolas’ quiver and bow from his shoulder, while never leaving the elf’s lips. Legolas’ fingers found their way into Aragorn’s hair once the weapons were carefully discarded. Aragorn pulled at Legolas’ tunic, and Legolas leant back quickly, his blue eyes meeting Aragorn’s.

Aragorn frowned, “Sorry,” he said. _Perhaps I was too forward,_ he thought.

Legolas shook his head, “No,” he whispered, looking down to stare at Aragorn’s lips, “shhh,” he muttered, pressing a quick kiss to Aragorn’s lips before leaning back and undoing his tunic.

Aragorn felt nervousness rise in his stomach as he watched Legolas. They had only ever kissed. Aragorn didn’t know how far Legolas wanted to or thought they’d go. Legolas shed the tunic and Aragorn raised his hands to undo Legolas’ undershirt, before undoing his own cape, tunic and undergarment. When both were shirtless and unarmed Aragorn pulled Legolas towards him in an enveloping hug, wanting to be as close to him as possible. He pressed his mouth to Legolas’ bare neck, and kissed along his pale collarbone, his fingers gripping Legolas’ hips as he bucked into him involuntarily, craving the friction. Legolas moaned and tugged at Aragorn’s hair before forcing the man backward and onto the ground. The movement tugged uncomfortably at Aragorn’s hips but the feeling of discomfort was quickly forgotten when Legolas smirked down at him and the setting sun’s light encircled his head, catching on his blond hair. 

“What?” Legolas asked, breathlessly, with a smile.

Aragorn swallowed, “You’re so beautiful,” he whispered.

Legolas’ leant down and pressed a soft kiss to Aragorn’s forehead. The movement made Aragorn aware of how hard they both were. He ached for them to continue, for them to join in the most intimate of fashions. He knew only what he had seen other animals do. Of course he knew how to deal with himself when he needed to but he’d never done anything with another person. He’d only ever kissed Arwen, he and Arwen had planned on waiting till after their joining ceremony. But with Legolas he didn’t want to wait.

Legolas pulled back and began fingering the rim of Aragorn’s pants, giving the man a questioning look. Aragorn couldn’t control the smile that found its way onto his face. Legolas smiled back and quickly shed his shoes and undid Aragorn’s before leaning over Aragorn and slowly undoing his pants, as if savouring the moment. The elf then looked up at Aragorn through his eyelashes and slipped his hand into the man’s pants. Aragorn gasped at the touch, his back arching slightly. 

Legolas’ touch was cold and soft. _Eru,_ Aragorn breathed out shakily, _How can this feel so good; he hasn’t even done anything yet?_ he thought. Legolas smirked at Aragorn’s expression and hooked his hands around band of the pants, pulling it down quickly. Aragorn felt a blush creep over his cheeks as Legolas stared down at him. 

The elf quickly noticed and smiled encouragingly, “Shhh, it’s alright,” he said, before gesturing to his pants, “Would you like to help?” he asked.

Aragorn smirked and pulled his pants off the rest of the way, suddenly unashamed of his nudity when faced with the prospect of seeing Legolas naked. Aragorn did not linger at Legolas’ hips like the elf had at his; he was nowhere near as patient. Instead, he stripped the elf quickly and efficiently. His breath hitched once Legolas was free from the confines of his pants. Aragorn looked back up at Legolas who smiled softly at him. 

“Have you ever...?” Aragorn trailed off.

Legolas smiled and shook his head, “No.”

Aragorn grinned, cupping Legolas’ face in his hand, and pressing his lips to the elf’s. This kiss was different from the rest, unhurried, and yet it was even more intoxicating. Aragorn moved with Legolas, ghosting his lips in a sensual dance. Aragorn’s took the curvature of Legolas’ plump bottom lip gently between his teeth sucking on it like some exotic fruit. Legolas groaned and let out a breathy gasp, and Aragorn felt a tingling sensation of pleasure make its way down to his abdomen. Legolas suddenly took control of the kiss, his tongue darting out to touch Aragorn’s own, licking along the deep red flesh of the inside of the man’s mouth. Aragorn groaned and bucked into Legolas who involuntarily returned the movement, having to leave Aragorn’s mouth to breathe out shakily. Aragorn leant his head in the crook of Legolas’ neck.

“What do you want?” Legolas asked huskily.

“I want to...” Aragorn’s heart fluttered as he tried to word his sentence, “I want to.”

“Melo nin (make love to me),” Legolas whispered.

Aragorn’s mind calmed, as if the whole experience was just too much for him to comprehend. He placed a hand gently on Legolas’ chest as Legolas leant backwards till he was lying on the ground. He trialed a hand down the elf’s sweat-dampened body, and when he reached his abdomen the elf shivered. 

Aragorn pressed a kiss to Legolas’ forehead, before resting his hands on the elf’s slim pale hips. He pushed Legolas’ legs up slowly. His heart fluttered in nervousness as he looked down at Legolas. Legolas continued to smile at him reassuringly but it was lopsided and dazed. Aragorn felt sudden glee, _I did that,_ he thinks in satisfaction.

With newfound confidence he slipped his finger into his mouth, covering it in saliva before positioning it at Legolas’ entrance and sliding within slowly. Legolas gasped but didn’t beg Aragorn to stop, so he continued. He added another finger and Legolas squirmed but again didn’t complain, and the man began a scissoring motion so as to open him up further. The tension began to leave Legolas as Aragorn continued. He felt himself shiver at the picture before him: Legolas’ fluttering eyes and writhing body.

“Estel,” Legolas begged, “pathro nin (fill me).”

Aragorn shivered at the usage of his childhood name, and bit his lip as he pulled his finger out. He was incredibly hard, and could feel the pounding reverberate up his abdomen as he hurriedly slicked himself and slowly slipped into Legolas. Legolas gasped but gripped Aragorn’s hand before he could pull out.

“Avo dharo (don’t stop),” he spluttered, “Just...slowly.”

Aragorn did as Legolas said, moving in slow backwards and forwards motions, deepening with every move. Legolas let out a breathless gasp that made Aragorn shiver. He began to quicken his movements, changing his position so as to better the experience for the elf. He found a good rhythm and held it. Legolas’ mouth hung open slightly, saliva forming along his lips. 

His breath left his open mouth in erratic spurts and Aragorn was slowly becoming as breathless. Legolas suddenly pushed back and let out a loud moan. Aragorn gasped at the motion and changed his direction, earning him beautiful breathless gasps and noises from the elf. Legolas suddenly cried out and came over himself, shivering in pleasure. Aragorn groaned at the sight and quickened his pace once more. He hit his peak and climaxed within Legolas. 

Pleasure sparked through his insides, blurring his mind and for a moment all he could do was try to catch his breath. Aragorn’s legs felt shaky as he pulled out of Legolas and fell beside him. Aragorn pulled Legolas into his arms clumsily. Both were slick with sweat and cum but neither cared. The elf was just as breathless as he was. After a while Aragorn began to come back to himself, though his mind was still beautifully hazy. The sun had set completely while they’d been busy. A large white disk of a moon had taken its place. 

Aragorn breathed out, _I love him,_ he thought, _I truly love him._ He felt laughter rise in his chest and he smiled into Legolas’ shoulder, “Gi melin (I love you).”

Legolas turned his head to stare at Aragorn. The moon’s light was just good enough to see by; Aragorn could make out his smile and blue eyes. 

Legolas pressed a soft loving kiss to Aragorn’s cheek, “Gi melin, Estel.”

\--

 **Blue print for Dictionary below:**  
**Sindarin** /Quenya – Translation - _Literal Meaning_

 **Man te?** – What is it? - _What is it?_  
**Melo nin** – Make love to me - _Love me._  
**Pathro nin** – Fill me - _Fill me._  
**Avo dharo** – Don’t stop - _Stop halt/falter._  
**Gi melin** – I love you - _I love you._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry this took so long. I struggled so much to write this chapter. I hope you enjoy it! Please leave a comment, thank you!
> 
> Credit for the photos used in this fanfiction goes to Alef, who graciously allowed me to post them in my story. Alef, and their other cosplays - which are brilliant so definitely check them out!! - can be found on [Deviantart](http://the-alef.deviantart.com/) and [Tumblr](http://alef-art.tumblr.com/).


	17. The First Loss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The roars of furious orcs and the twang-smack of arrows hitting stone echoed throughout the dark tunnels as the company escaped into the light of day. The fresh air was cold and harsh in their throats. Their eyes, already burning with loss, blinked in confusion, as they stumbled over the rocky landscape to collapse into mourning.

The roars of furious orcs and the twang-smack of arrows hitting stone echoed throughout the dark tunnels as the company escaped into the light of day. The fresh air was cold and harsh in their throats. Their eyes, already burning with loss, blinked in confusion, as they stumbled over the rocky landscape to collapse into mourning.

Aragorn stumbled to a stop, breathless from shock, and looked back to see the orange light of fire, flickering in the depths of the cave. He distantly recognised the cries of the halflings, Gimli’s shouts and threats, and Boromir’s protests. _Gandalf is gone,_ he thought in disbelief, _He can’t be..._ But he had seen it with his own eyes. 

Aragorn turned from the cave and looked out across the rocky landscape. He wanted nothing more than to give his body permission to lose control, he wanted nothing more than to rest and feel, and leave the quest for tomorrow. But dusk was approaching quickly and Aragorn knew what creatures night would bring, and so he forced himself to hold back what emotions he could.

He wiped his sword of orc blood as he turned to the group, “Legolas,” he called, thanking Eru that his voice was steady and strong, “Get them up,” he sheathed the weapon.

Legolas turned to him in a daze, his eyes sad but understanding. He gave a nod before walking over to help Merry and Pippin.

“Give them a moment for pity’s sake!” Boromir cried as his face contorted in sharp anger and grief.

Aragorn longed to agree but none of them could afford to waist time. “By nightfall these hills will be swarming with orcs,” he called back, “We must reach the woods of Lothlorien.”

Boromir grimaced, still filled with pulsing emotion, but turned to help his friends up.

 _We must leave,_ Aragorn thought, _it is mid-afternoon but if we wait any longer we’ll find time has left us far behind._ “Come on, Boromir, Legolas,” he said, running over to help, “Gimli, get them up.”

Aragorn pulled Sam to his feet and turned to look for Frodo. The hobbit was already wandering in the direction they had planned to travel. 

“Frodo?” Aragorn called.

He wished he hadn’t. Frodo turned and the look on his face was heart wrenching; the halfling looked exhausted; his eyes were lidded in hopelessness and his movements were slow and heavy. Aragorn tried think of something to say to encourage the hobbits but what did one say when a good friend had just died to save them? Aragorn felt a stab of guilt in his chest, but tried not to focus on it. He just couldn’t afford to grieve just yet. 

No words of comfort came to mind, so instead he tried to have them focus on the task at hand, “Come on!” he called once more, “We must keep moving!”

After a slow start the group began their single file trudge across the cold, uninviting land. Aragorn stayed in front, leading the group in the correct direction. He kept a reasonable gap between himself and the company so as to stay detached from the sorrow. He focused on the emptiness in his stomach or on his footfalls upon the marshlands, and if that wasn’t enough he thought about how the company could stock up on provisions: fishing was out of the question, but there was a possibility that some small burrowing mammal occupied the marshlands, and there were birds, deer and mammals in the forests of Lothlorien; beside that the elves should be more than hospitable.

Aragorn emerged from his thoughts to see a small hill and ran ahead to see if there was anything recognisable beyond it. He reached its tip and looked out to see the forest. He almost smiled. The day had darkened and the company still had a half-hours walk but Aragorn hoped that the sight of their destination might help lighten the heaviness in his friend’s hearts. 

Legolas watched Aragorn in worry. He felt a strong urge to talk with him but didn’t know what he’d say if he had the chance. The elf’s heart ached with the loss of Gandalf and his mind still refused to properly acknowledge it. Legolas had been so frightened in the caves and all he wanted to do was hug Aragorn and gave him say everything was going to be alright. 

The hobbits remained silent, their heads bowed low, and except for the heavy breathing of Gimli, the quiet muttering of Boromir, and the soft footsteps of the company there was not a sound. They finally reached the wood and Aragorn fell back into their midst though he still said little. The forest was as he remembered it: lush green and gold, moss covered trees and canopies of green. He knew that once the night began to creep into the forest those leaves would glow iridescent; he could already see a slight glow in them as the sun set lower in the sky.

They still had far to go when Aragorn heard a whisper of a footstep. It was too late, Legolas already had his bow drawn and armed but the elves of Lothlorien were quicker. Aragorn frowned in worry and confusion, _The elves of Lothlorien know Legolas and I,_ he thought, _the only reason they would act hostile is if they knew of the Ring Frodo carried._ He raised his hands in a peaceful manner. _Did they know? Had news of the Ring spread so far, so quickly?_

But then Haldir appeared and Aragorn felt relief begin to wash over him, “The dwarf breathed so loudly we could have shot him in the dark.”

“Haldir o Lórien,” he greeted, “Henio, aníron, boe amen i dulu lîn (please, understand, we need your help),” he pleaded, “Boe amen veriad lîn (we need your protection).”

Haldir told them that the lady was waiting and that the dwarf could not pass through their wood. It was then agreed that Gimli could accompany them only if he was blindfolded, and in the dwarfs stubbornness to agree the entire company consented to also being blindfolded. The rest of the walk was slow and uneasy; no one spoke.

When their blindfolds were finally removed it was night and the forest glowed blue. Lady Galadriel met with the company, and Aragorn was careful to shield his thoughts from her. However, she did but look at him and the memories were forced to the front of his mind.

“He has fallen into shadow,” she murmured sadly.

Aragorn frowned and his eyes stung as she stared at him in pity.

_  
In the darkness of the caves they run, their hair plastered to their faces. Arrows fly overhead, dangerously close. Orc cries fill the tunnels as rocks tumble down from cave walls._

_“Lead them on Aragorn,” Gandalf orders him._

_He leads, and they run. The beast from below claws its way out of its hiding place. It has sharp horns and fiery breath, its wings hang by its sides having been forgotten, and its muscles and scales are surrounded in a cape of smoke._

_“Over the bridge, quickly!”_

_Drums still beat all around them, echoing in their ears as orcs fire arrows left, right and center. He leads, and they run. Gandalf stays behind, clutching sword and glowing staff. The beast draws nearer, an evil glint in its eye as it stands._

_Gandalf raises his staff and a pure glow fills the cave as he shouts, “You shall not pass!”_

_Neither pass, and Aragorn watches helplessly as both fall into the shadowy depths of the deep chasm. He knows he will see neither again.  
_

Tears had formed in Aragorn’s eyes, and he blinked them away as the Lady Galadriel’s blue eyes stared into his. _You led them to safety,_ her voice was soft in his mind, like soothing cool water upon the harsh burns of the memories, _Agorel vae, he would be proud (you did well, he would be proud)._

Aragorn did not respond, and the Lady looked away, freeing him from her grasp.

“Go now and rest for you are weary with sorrow and much toil,” she told them with a soft smile, “Tonight you will sleep well.”

They were given a place to sleep, and as they unpacked a song filled the air, a lament to Gandalf. Aragorn did not speak as he made his bed beside Gimli, and when he had finished he looked up to make sure all the company was doing the same. He saw Boromir seated alone at the edge of the clearing and walked over to him. Though, at first the relationship with the man had been one of tension, he had found eventual respect and friendship for and from the man.

“Take some rest,” Aragorn ordered him, “These borders are well protected,” he added, staring out at the glowing city of Lothlorien.

“I’ll find no rest here,” Boromir responded in agitation.

Aragorn turned to him and frowned.

“I heard her voice inside my head,” he said.

 _Oh yes, I know what that’s like,_ Aragorn thought. It could be reassuring and beautiful or frustrating and cruel but it was always _always_ terrifying.

“She spoke of my father and the fall of Gondor,” he continued, “She said to me even now there is hope left,” he breathed in deeply as he looked away, “But I can’t see it,” and then he turned to Aragorn, and a light glistened in his eyes, “It is long since we had any hope.”

Aragorn didn’t have the strength to keep up his façade of calmness much longer but he knew that the least he could do was calm another’s mind. He sat down beside Boromir, unsure of where the conversation might lead.

Boromir saw Aragorn’s gesture as one of encouragement, “My father is an older man,” he said, “And his rule is failing, and our...” he faltered, “Our people lose faith.” Boromir too, looked out over Lothlorien, and Aragorn could only assume that it was not just Galadriel’s words that disheartened the man, but also the beauty and perfection that was Lothlorien.

“He looks to me to make things right and I-I would do it,” he said, “I would see the glory of Gondor restored,” he said it with such confidence that seemed to shock him for he gave a soft ‘huff’ of surprise.

Aragorn sighed softly. _This should be the man who rules Gondor,_ he thought, _the man who has grown up within its walls and knows the faces of every man, woman and child who lives there._ Aragorn felt jealousy rise in his throat, _he has known my people longer than I have. They would follow him._ Aragorn looked down at his dark, coarse hands, which were covered in dirt and grime, _I am but a stranger to them._

“Have you ever seen it, Aragorn?” Boromir suddenly asked, “The white tower of Ecthelion, glimmering like a spike of burning silver?” the man said it with such love, and Aragorn’s jealousy grew, “Its banners caught high in the morning breeze; have you ever been called home by the clear ringing of silver trumpets?”

 _No,_ Aragorn thought, _I have not,_ he looked up at Boromir and saw only wonder in the man’s eyes, _It is not my home. It is yours,_ he knew it was the truth but he didn’t tell Boromir this. “I have seen the white city,” he said, instead, “long ago.” _Thirty-one years ago._

“One day our paths will lead us there,” Bromomir told him, a smile upon his lips, “and the tower guard shall take up the call that the Lords of Gondor have returned.”

Despite himself a small smile played upon Aragorn’s lips for a mere second, as the image of two brave Lords rode upon brown steeds towards the tower...But he quickly banished the thought, refusing to allow himself the satisfaction when he knew he must earn the right to call himself a Lord.

“Sleep,” Aragorn told Boromir before he walked away, and lay down beside Gimli.

Hours later, when the company had fallen asleep, he stood and walked away. As he passed Frodo’s sleeping form he glimpsed the delicate braid of silver around his neck, and wondered about the object which hung on that chain. He didn’t allow himself to ponder on it for long, however; he was fearful of what might happen if he regarded the ring too closely. He was fearful that he might try to take it. The thought prompted him to hurry from the glade.

Unknown to the man, Legolas had also not fallen into slumber. The elf watched as Aragorn left his bed, and got up to follow him. He found his friend standing on the landing above, staring out on Lothlorien. Legolas watched in worry sas Aragorn shook uncontrollably.

“Estel?”

Aragorn froze and tried to control his breathing.

“Are you alright?” the elf asked.

“Are you?” Aragorn asked, and his voice broke.

“Ú,” Legolas responded, before sighing and walking over to Aragorn, “Goston angin (no, I am worried about you),” he said as he slowly wrapped his arms around the man’s waist, “Av’osto. Savo amdir (Have hope. Do not fear).”

“Sevin ú-estel (I have no hope),” Aragorn responded.

“Estel,” Legolas sighed and rested his face against the man’s back, “Mellon nîn, meleth nín, odulen an gin eliad (My friend, my love, I am here to help you.)”

“I can’t do this, Legolas.”

“We can,” the elf responded with certainty, “I promised you we would stop whatever threatened Endor, and we will.”

Aragorn began to shake again, and his throat ached with emotion as tears, which he couldn’t hold back any longer, fell from his eyes, “I can’t lead this company,” he said, “I’m scared I might try to take the ring,” he admitted, “and I’m terrified of failing and petrified of succeeding,” he shuddered, “I-I cannot be king, I just...can’t.”

Legolas continued to hug the man through his tears, “Aragorn,” he said, “You are strong, kind, intelligent and certainly worthy of kingship,” Legolas pressed his lips to the man’s shoulder blade, before leaning back, “You will never take the ring, and though we may not succeed I know you will fight to the last of your breath for your people, whom I know you love more dearly than your own life.”

Aragorn closed his eyes and wrapped his arms around Legolas’ own as he continued, “You told me yourself that fear is not a fault, fear keeps you strong,” the elf grimaced, “I was so afraid in Moria,” he said, “At first it was just of the caves but as soon as those drums sounded...” he paused, “All I could think was ‘please let us survive this so I can tell Estel I love him one more time’ and all I’ve wanted to do since leaving those caves is tell you how much I love you.”

Aragorn frowned, and turned in Legolas’ arms so he faced the elf, “I’m sorry,” he said, pressing his lips to Legolas’.

The elf smiled into the kiss, “Don’t you dare apologise,” he murmured, before pulling back, “No one wants this war,” he said, “I would rather run away with you and find some distant place where we can hide with the certainty that we will survive together.” Legolas smiled sadly, before raising a hand to cup Aragorn’s face, “And even if I had the heart, I know you would rather fight and die than abandon your people to run and live.”

Aragorn pressed his lips once more to Legolas’ and the saltiness of newly fallen tears rolled down to meet their lips, “I’m sorry,” Aragorn repeated.

“Shh,” Legolas said, “Be strong for me,” he pleaded, “tell me we can do it; tell me everything will be alright.”

Aragorn paused before gently leaning his forehead to Legolas’ as he closed his eyes, “We can do it,” he said, “everything will end w-ell,” his voice broke on the last word but he continued quickly, “Glory and peace will be restored to Endor,” he said, “and you and I will see it.” But he wasn’t sure he believed his own words.

“No,” Legolas shook his head, “You will bring it,” he said with certainty.

\--  
 **Blue print for Dictionary below:**  
 **Sindarin** /Quenya – Translation - _Literal Meaning_

 **Odulen an gin eliad** – I’m here to help you. - _I’m here to help you._  
 **Ci velethron e-guil nîn** – You are the love of my life - _You are the love of my life._  
 **Av’osto** – Do not fear. - _Don’t be fearful._  
 **Savo amdir** – Have hope - _Have hope._  
 **Sevin ú-estel** – I have no hope - _I have no hope._  
 **Ci vilui** – Thank you – _You are kind_  
 **Goston angin** – I am worried about you – _I fear for you._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This time round I actually managed to update on time. I hope you enjoyed this chapter! I'm feeling unwell lately but I'll try and get the next chapter up on time too. Please leave a comment, I'd love to know what you like/dislike about my story or writing in general, and what you think is going to happen next.


	18. The Lord(s) of Gondor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Aragorn had heard the horn of Gondor call throughout the forest a feeling of dread crept through him. Even as he ran he knew what he would find.

When Aragorn had heard the horn of Gondor call throughout the forest a feeling of dread crept through him. Even as he ran he knew what he would find. He stumbled into the clearing to see Boromir knelt in front of a large orc, three orc arrows protruding from his chest. The orc raised its bow to his friend's heart and aimed. Aragorn rushed forwards, knocking the orc to the ground. They both stood quickly and Aragorn raised his sword in fury. 

The orc fought well, but was no match for Aragorn, who struck it down in three swipes of his sword, ending with a bloody decapitation. Aragorn breathed out shakily once the orc was slain, and it took him a few seconds to come back to himself and register where he was. With a sudden shocking realisation he turned to Boromir, who had managed to drag himself to the foot of a tree.  
He lay, deathly grey, amongst the twenty or so dead orcs he had killed. His horn lay by his side, cloven in two, and three black-feathered arrows protruded from his chest and abdomen.

“No,” he breathed, rushing to his friend’s aid; but he knew that the man was beyond help.

Boromir took a painful gasp as Aragorn knelt beside him, “They took the little ones!” he spluttered in worried desperation.

“Lay still,” Aragorn ordered, looking over the man’s wounds in a desperate attempt to find some way to alter the man’s fate but closer inspection only confirmed his fears. Boromir was deathly pale, and blood was already pooling in his mouth.

“Frodo,” Boromir demanded in a panic, “Where is Frodo!?” he asked, grabbing Aragorn’s arm in worry.

“I let Frodo go,” he answered.

“Then you did what I could not,” Boromir admitted, “I tried to take the ring from him.”

“The ring is beyond our reach now,” Aragorn promised the man, watching in sorrow as his friend convulsed in agony.

“Forgive me,” he begged, “I did not see,” he spluttered, “I have failed you all.”

“No, Boromir,” Aragorn told him, shaking his head, “You fought bravely, you’ve kept your honour.”

Aragorn moved to try and staunch the blood but Boromir grabbed his hand, “Leave it,” Boromir demanded, “It is over.” He took a shaky breathed and Aragorn cupped the Boromir’s face in pitiful sympathy as he continued to speak, “the world of man will fall, and all will come to darkness,” his lips trembled, “and my city to ruin.”

Aragorn imagined what the world of the future would be like, and in his minds eyes he could see the world fall into darkness, as Sauron’s forces devoured the land. Trees would be uprooted and the land would be desolate. All things beautiful would end, disappearing into glimmers of memories which would be forgotten as hobbit, dwarf, man and elf were driven to extinction. Endor would die if Sauron was not defeated. _But who would stand up to fight?_ Aragorn knew the answer. Boromir stared up at him in utter despair, his eyes begging Aragorn to correct him, to promise him Gondor’s survival; Aragorn saw himself in the their clouded reflection, and with anger he thought of the enemy. _I will not see another friend of mine die,_ Aragorn thought, _I will not allow Sauron to win._

Aragorn’s voice wavered as he replied, “I do not know what strength is in my blood,” he paused, “but I swear to you I will not let the white city fall,” he stated with angry determination, “nor our people fail.

“Our people?” Boromir breathed, a small smile playing upon his deathly-grey lips, “our people.”

Aragorn nodded sadly and watched as hope’s light was rekindled in Boromir’s eyes. Boromir turned to his discarded weapon and reached for it, Aragorn placed it in his hand, and Boromir’s fingers tightened around it before he clenched his fist and brought it proudly to his chest.

“I would have followed you my brother,” he uttered, “my captain,” and then he smiled as Aragorn’s eyes clouded with tears, “my king.”

Aragorn trembled and a tear rolled down his cheek as he watched Boromir take his final shaky breath. Aragorn sat in disbelief for a moment staring down into the glassy eyes of his still friend, before raising a hand to his forehead and then to his lips in a gesture of respect. 

Aragorn then cupped his friend’s face in his hands and murmured softly, “Be at peace,” he said, “Son of Gondor,” and leant forward, pressing his lips to Boromir’s forehead.

He then stood shakily, his mind overwhelmed with emotions of sorrow as he stared out across at the bloodied corpses of their foes. He distantly heard Legolas and Gimli approach but he did not turn to them.

“We cannot leave him here,” Legolas said sadly.

 _But we cannot honour his customs...there is too little time,_ Aragorn thought.

“We must be swift,” Gimli spoke up, and voice was far from the bold bellow it usually was, “He would not wish us to linger.”

“Do we bury him?” Legolas asked, “What are the customs of Gondor?”

Aragorn let out a slow and strained breath, “We do not have the means nor the time to carry them out.”

Neither Gimli nor Legolas responded to that, and so the decision was left to Aragorn. With anger he realised that there was no longer a time in which emotions could govern thought; he knew that rationality was what would be valued during the war, and they _were_ at war. _That does not mean we cannot honour him in some other way,_ Aragon concluded determinedly.

He turned to his friends and spoke slowly, “Let us lay him in one of the boats,” he said, “We will send him to the Falls of Rauros and give him to Anduin.”

Gimli ran ahead to organise the boat. Aragorn and Legolas stayed behind to carry Boromir to the beach. Aragorn did not move immediately once Gimli had gone, and so Legolas walked towards Boromir and knelt, passing a hand over the dead man’s face so as to close his eyes. Then the two of them lifted Boromir into their arms and began to carry him away. 

The walk to the beach was long and each trudging step was heavier than the last. Aragorn tried to remain detached from the action, unable to come to terms with whom lay lifeless in his arms. His ears rang with the sound of silence and his mind was fuzzy with unease as he tried to piece together his memories of the shattered afternoon.

They reached the beach and Boromir was lain carefully on the rocks. Aragorn stared down at his friend as Legolas left his side. Boromir’s face was at peace, all harsh lines of anger smoothed out into the last emotion he ever felt, that of happiness; happiness, which he had only experienced in his dying moment due to Aragorn’s acceptance of his offer of kinship.

“Here,” Legolas spoke softly.

Aragorn turned to see the elf hold out a bowl filled with water and clean, torn cloths. Aragorn nodded in thanks and chose a piece of wet cloth, before beginning to wipe the dirt from his friend’s face. Legolas took one of Boromir’s hands and did the same. When they had finished they lay Boromir in the empty elvish boat Gimli had prepared, and placed his sword in his hands and his shield above his head.

Then they stepped back and stared down at their dead friend, and Aragorn trembled in grief. They each knelt beside Boromir in turn, and Aragorn was last. _Brother,_ he thought, _that is what I would have called you,_ his eyes blurred with tears and he tried to blink them away as he looked down. _We would have been Lords together._

The sun glinted off of Boromir’s armour and Aragorn looked up, wiping the tears from his eyes, to see the engraving on the man’s vambrace, the white tree of Minis Tirith, blaze with silver light. Aragorn leant forward and brushed a hand over the armour, and though it shouldn’t have, it felt warm under his touch. s _I will honour our city,_ Aragorn thought, as he carefully removed each vambrace, _I will honour my promise to you, and I will wear your armour as a reminder of you, your offered kinship, your allegiance to me and your bravery as a man of Gondor._

He then stood back, and the three of them pushed the elvish boat out into the water. Aragorn strapped Boromir’s vambraces onto his arms as he watched Boromir’s boat sail out into the white churning water, before disappearing over the falls. 

Legolas watched Aragorn in pity. Boromir had been a friend but he had not had a bond like Aragorn had. Boromir was a fellow man of Gondor and though he had been nothing like Aragorn, Legolas knew that the man had valued his friendship. The elf walked over to Aragorn and pulled the man into a hug. Gimli who stood close by, respectfully walked away out of earshot.

“Estel, meleth nín.”

“Nîdh (it hurts),” Aragorn muttered in a broken response.

“Non dhínen, iston (shh, I know),” Legolas responded, burying his face into Aragorn’s shoulder.

“Goston... (I fear...)” Aragorn began.

“Non dhínen,” Legolas repeated, “We can do this, we will succeed,” though when he said it he sounded unsure, “Gandalf appointed you our leader for a reason,” Legolas said, this time with far more certainty, “He believed in you.”

Aragorn swallowed the painful lump in his throat, “And he is dead.”

Legolas’ muscles tensed in frustration, “You are not to blame for either of their deaths!” 

Aragorn nodded, “And yet I still feel responsible,” he said.

Legolas let go of the man and spun him around to face him, “You cannot do this to yourself. It’s ridiculous!”

Aragorn did not respond.

“Do not think me blind to your faults!” Legolas responded in anger, “I know not a creature without them. But if you have ever believed in the wisdom that I have collected over a many a year, then you will know I do not lie when I say that the future king of Gondor stands in front of me and our friend’s deaths are not on his hands,” the elf fell into silence, regretting his outburst as soon as he’d finished. _That was selfish of me,_ he thought, _we are both not in our right minds...I shouldn’t have shouted._

Aragorn knew why Legolas was angry with him. They both didn’t know how to cope with such a situation. Aragorn stepped forward and pulled Legolas back into a hug, “I do not pretend to understand your certainty in me...” he admitted, “but Legolas, I do not mean to hide from my fate any longer.” he said. Legolas’ arms weaved their way back around Aragorn’s form, as he continued, “Man is known for its faults, all this would not have happened if Isildur had been strong enough to destroy the ring.” he lent his chin on Legolas’ shoulder, “But I’m tired," he said through clenched teeth, “I’m exhausted of being scared,” Legolas’ arms tightened around the man in pity, “I’ve tried _so_ hard to fight my fate, thinking myself at fault for Isildur’s failure. It has to stop!” he exclaimed in anger. 

Aragorn pulled out of Legolas’ embrace so as to look the elf in the eye, “I know what I must do,” he said, “and it makes no _bloody_ difference if I like it or not. I’m the minority,” he said, before softening, “As long as you’re by my side, I’ll do everything in my power for Gondor, for Endor,” he finished determinedly.

Aragorn’s back had straightened, and Legolas glimpsed the birth of a regal light in his friend’s stormy grey eyes. It was small but the elf could see that it would grow to support a wise king’s gaze. Legolas smiled at Aragorn in wonder. _He will be king,_ Legolas thought proudly, _and he will be a great king._ However, the moment passed and Aragorn deflated once more; as if he was too tired to hold up the strain of his future.

Legolas gave a nod of approval, before making his way over to the remaining boat, and began pulling it to the water’s edge. 

“Hurry,” the elf said. Gimli heard, and rushed back into their line of sight, “We must catch up to the hobbits,” the elf said, “If we are quick, we will catch Frodo and Sam before nightfall.”

But when Aragorn did not hasten to his side the elf turned to him. Legolas frowned when he saw that Aragorn had not moved from his spot, “You mean not to follow them?” he asked.

“Frodo’s fate is no longer in our hands,” he responded, looking away.

“Then it has all been in vain,” Gimli said gruffly, “the fellowship has failed.”

“No,” Aragorn said, turning to them and walking forwards to place a hand on both their shoulders, “Not if we hold true to each other,” he promised, “We will not abandon Merry and Pippin to torment and death, not while we have strength left.” _Even if Frodo had not chosen to leave the fellowship couldn’t have remained intact._ Aragorn thought, _They would have had to split up._

Aragorn then quickly moved to his pack, pulled out his hunting knife and strapped it on.

“Leave all that can be spared behind,” he ordered, “We travel light,” he then turned to both his friends, “Let’s hunt some Orc.”

Gimli exclaimed in triumph and the three ran back into the forest to pursue the orcs, which had taken their friends. Vengeful purpose burned in their muscles, and fueled their flight. The creatures would not avail them forever.

\--  
 **Blue print for Dictionary below:**  
 **Sindarin** /Quenya – Translation - _Literal Meaning_

 **Meleth nín** – My love - _My lovei >  
 **Nîdh** – It hurts - _It hurts_  
 **Non dhínen** – Shh/don’t talk like that – _Be silent_  
 **Iston** – I know - _I know._  
 **Goston** – I fear - _I fear.__

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry about this chapter, I'm not very happy with it. I've not been feeling very well lately and I've been very busy. I hoped you enjoyed it, anyway. Please leave a comment, thanks!


	19. Minis Tirith Rises

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The day after the destruction of the Ring.

The day before the destruction of the Ring, clouds of darkness invaded the lands of light, blotting out all happiness as it blocked the sun from view. If one had looked up they would have thought it a starless night. When the Ring was destroyed the darkness lit up in flame. All enemies turned from it in fear, but any who turned towards it were transformed. Those faces grew young once more; the shadows under their eyes gone, and their faces creaseless. Swords glinted in the light and cries were bellowed across the land as enemies ran. All across the battlefield cries of triumph rang. That was the day the Ring was destroyed.

The day after the destruction of the Ring, clouds of white drifted across the bright blue sky. It would not be long before the birds and beasts returned, and elf and man found peaceful sleep once more. Celebration was withheld till after the weary were rested, and the dead buried and mourned for but when it came, it came in many forms. But the brightest and happiest of the celebrations was that of the crowning of a king.

For Aragorn the day had moved slowly. He wasn't sure what he was meant to think or feel with how people acted about him, and how he was treated. Servants came to dress him in fine silks, and were surprised when he spoke to them as equals, and told them he did not need their assistance, thank you. Guards bowed to him, and when he bowed back they averted their gazes. He didn't know what he was meant to think or feel but he felt tired and he disliked the special attention towards him. Perhaps the people will grow accustomed to my independence and lack of proper genteel, he thought, or perhaps I will grow accustomed to their customs. He couldn't help imagining Boromir in his place, and though it as a sad thought, Aragorn found himself smiling.Boromir would have suited kingship more than I, but he would be just as uncomfortable in a seat of power as I am now.

The crowning ceremony moved as slowly as the rest of the day and Aragorn's stomach fluttered with nervousness as he recited his oath and looked upon his people. Though he could not linger long on anyone person, his eyes did chance to pause on Legolas' comforting and reassuring smile. He had not seen him since the day before when the battle had been won, and he longed to speak with him. The other faces in the crowd watched him in pride and admiration and he couldn't help wondering what those people saw in him. He had led an army into battle, and they might have been victorious. But ultimately, the war had been won by Frodo and Sam, who had bravely taken the Ring to Mordor and thrown it into the fires of Mount Doom. Despite this his people seemed to admire him for the little he'd done.

A memory came back to him as he stood there; a memory of a young man, unsure of his destiny and his love, standing before the judging of an elf as beautiful as she was wise. The Lady Galadriel. She knew exactly what was in his heart, before he himself understood completely, and gave as much guidance to him as she was able to. She asked if he was willing to look upon the waters of her mirror. She had told him that there were many things the mirror could show him; many different future and present possibilities, as well as his fears and his hopes, and that he would have to decide whether or not to believe anything he saw. He declined the offer.

"Thank you, my Lady," he said, bowing, "I would prefer not to look."

The Lady smiled, "I think it a wise decision," she said, bowing back to him, "You will make a great King."

Legolas found Aragorn in his bedchambers. The King sat at his window, leaning on the sill, his chin laying upon his crossed arms. A cool breeze blew through the opening, prompting Aragorn's clean curly hair to bounce every now and then. Legolas smiled at the peaceful image; it was still hard to believe that the War was over. The elf stepped over to the man and sat on the lounge beside him.

"Melleth nín?" (My love?) Legolas asked, wriggling his hand into Aragorn's own.

Aragorn squeezed his hand but continued to stare out of the window, "It's strange," he said, "To think this is what I feared the most."

"It's not," Legolas responded, "responsibility is feared by all to an extent," he stroked a thumb over Aragorn's bruised knuckles, "And you are a King now."

"I am King," he said, before sighing and turning away from the sky, burying his chin into the crook of his arm as he looked up at Legolas, "But that's not what I meant."

"You feared this time altogether?" Legolas asked.

Aragorn nodded and Legolas looked out at the calm landscape, "Peace is a strange thing," he said, "We lived through a semblance of peace, with petty battles were all we knew; you think this peace will be any different? You think it will be boring and easy?"

Aragorn sat up straight, "I think it might, and I dread it," he said, "I know I shouldn't. I should hate the idea of war, of having to plot, maim and kill. I should care more for my people."

"All creature's seek conflict, don't think yourself any more terrible for doing so," Legolas counseled, "The thing that defines us is whether we choose the peace over the unnecessary bloodshed."

Aragorn nodded, "I know," he squeezed Legolas' hand again, "I know," he repeated.

The squawk of a bird made both man and elf turn to look out the window. A black raven flew by. It was hardly a bird of grace or beauty, and its call was a grating noise on their ears but it was wild bird, which had by some unknown power, perhaps a feeling carried upon the wind, known that the darkness of Mordor had retreated, and had returned to the White City. Aragorn watched its flight before he suddenly became agitated and turned back to Legolas.

"I love you Legolas," Aragorn said.

Legolas smiled, "I love you, Aragorn."

Aragorn smiled, and leant toward Legolas to press his lips softly against the elf's, before leaning back once more, "I was so worried that..." he trailed off, "I wanted to talk with you properly after the battle but..." again he trailed off and frowned this time, "You should not have to be second to my rule."

Legolas raised a hand to Aragorn's cheek, "You are King, I am your lover, the need of the many outweighs the need of the few, and we my King are unfortunately the few."

Aragorn frowned, "But it shouldn't..."

Legolas pressed a finger to Aragorn's lips to stop him from continuing, "We do not have the luxury to do what we like; I accepted that when I first kissed you."

"We may not have the luxury for much," Aragorn responded, "but there is but one thing I cannot live without."

Legolas frowned, "You'll always have me," the elf told him, "I'll always be by your side, to give you counsel, to fight by your side and to kiss you as you wake."

"Yes..." Aragorn said slowly, "but I would like for us to be accepted," he continued, "I would like for our people to know of us."

Legolas' eyes widened when Aragorn referred to his people as theirs, and frowned, "B-but how would they react?"

Aragorn shrugged, "I think they would deny us very little in a time such as these," and then he smiled, "I promised myself that if we survived this would be the first thing I did," and he slipped off the couch to kneel in front of Legolas, "Would you join in union with me?"

Legolas' stared down at Aragorn, "But..." he hated that his words made Aragorn's smile fall away, but he had to remind the man, "You're the King, you have a duty, and producing an heir is part of that duty."

Aragorn looked away, "Do you really think that I'd take a wife just so I could have a child? I could neither pretend to love her nor bind her to myself knowing that I could never love her," Aragorn turned back to Legolas, "I won't produce an heir."

Legolas frowned, "Then who will take your place, when..." he closed his eyes, "When, Eru forbid, you die?"

"There is many a man and woman worthy of the throne, I will appoint one when the time comes," Aragorn said, taking Legolas' hands in his.

Legolas turned back to Aragorn with a look of uncertainty, "Surely the people won't accept that."

Aragorn nodded, "It will be hard but..." he paused, "I have a man and woman in mind, if they do produce a child then I wish for that child to take my place."

"You mean...?"

There was a knock on the door and Aragorn raised a hand to pause Legolas before turning in its direction.

"Yes?" Aragorn called.

The door opened slightly and Faramir's face peered in, "Your majesty," he said, barely looking between Legolas and Aragorn, who had remained in their places, "The royal court would like to convene a meeting to discuss Minis Tirith's reconstruction phase."

Aragorn gave a nod and smile, "Thank you, Faramir, I will be there in a moment."

Faramir smiled back and then gave Legolas a nod, "I'm sorry for the intrusion," he said, before bowing low to both of them and exiting.

The door closed and Aragorn turned back to Legolas, "Will you join in union with me?" he asked once more.

Legolas smiled, "You won't take no for an answer even if I was stupid enough to decline."

Aragorn laughed, and pulled Legolas into a kiss. When they pulled away, he pressed his forehead against his spouse's, "Thank you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this took so long. Loads of work to do. Please leave a comment, thank you!
> 
> Credit for the photos used in this fanfiction goes to Alef, who graciously allowed me to post them in my story. Alef, and their other cosplays - which are brilliant so definitely check them out!! - can be found on [Deviantart](http://the-alef.deviantart.com/) and [Tumblr](http://alef-art.tumblr.com/).


	20. In Waking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Legolas worries about the future. Aragorn reminds him of the present.

The afternoon light shone through the tall castle windows, illuminating the halls inside. The white-gold and silver ornaments glistened and the walls glowed. Legolas wandered those beautiful halls of the white city of Minas Tirith; he was looking for Aragorn; unsuccessfully it would seem. The elf was about to give up and return to their chambers when he ran into Faramir.

The man bowed as Legolas approached, “Sire.”

“Faramir,” Legolas smiled, giving a nod in way of greeting, “Have you seen Aragorn?”

“The King is in his garden,” Faramir said, smiling.

Legolas nodded, “Thank you,” he said, “How is the Lady Eowyn?”

“She is well, thank you,” Faramir said, “She’s feeling a lot better now that our son’s back home.”

Legolas smiled, “And how is Elboron?”

Faramir gave a laugh, and shook his head, “He is as proud and brave to absurdity.”

Legolas laughed, “He’s young, he’ll learn to calm down.”

Faramir nodded, and looked down the hall as if he were in a hurry, “I’m sorry, am I keeping you?” asked Legolas.

Faramir shook his head, “No, sir, I just have a few things to organise,” he then turned to Legolas, “Would you inform the King of a counsel meeting before supper?”

“Of course,” Legolas responded. 

Faramir gave a polite yet quick bow, before leaving. Legolas smiled after him and then headed in the direction of his King’s private garden. When he reached the it the elf laughed, _really, I should have known,_ he thought. Legolas often found Aragorn in his garden. He liked to sit in the sun, his head titled upwards towards it, and his eyes closed. Legolas enjoyed watching his King rest, free from duty and expectation. Aragorn’s hair was a dark silver but in the light it shone white.

Aragorn suddenly smiled and opened his eyes slowly as he turned to Legolas, “I was wondering when you would join me.”

“If you’d told me where you were I would have been here sooner,” Legolas said with a smile, as he walked over to his King.

Aragorn took Legolas’ hand in his own, running a thumb over the elf’s softer, younger skin. Years ago they had argued about their situation: Aragorn’s continued aging and Legolas’ seemingly frozen state. But they had quickly seen that it was a futile worry, they loved each other too much to care. They had known of the consequences the day they had first kissed, and yet they remained together; they had joined in union and presented their love for each other to their people and found little opposition.

Legolas leant down and pressed his lips to Aragorn’s aged hand, whispering his love for him against it, “Meleth nín.” He suddenly felt a strong protective nature for his lover, “Come to the undying land with me,” he pleaded.

Aragorn sighed, but it wasn’t one of exasperation. They had argued about this topic too, “I cannot,” he said, “I must remain here to rule my kingdom.”

“You can,” Legolas assured, kneeling before Aragorn, and searching the man’s grey eyes, “Elboron can take the throne just as you planned.”

Aragorn smiled at Legolas’ words, he wished he could say yes, “It is too early,” he said, “He is too young. I was 81 when I took the throne, he is but 20.

“He is wise beyond his years,” the elf told him, “he could rule, and you could come away with me,” his words ended in a plea.

Aragorn pulled away from Legolas’ hold and stood shakily, “I will not,” he said firmly, “Your people tried to keep the Númenoreans at bay. I cannot dishonor both our people by doing what by ancestors thankfully failed to do! I cannot.” 

Legolas stepped towards him and wrapped his arms around Aragorn’s waist. 

After a moment the King softened into the embrace, “I’m afraid of what I might find there,” he admitted, “I’m afraid to succumb to the same temptation my ancestors became corrupted over,” he shook his head, “I want nothing to do with that history,” he all-but whispered.

Legolas shook his head, “It would be a sign of your people’s change, of your sincerity, and return of honour.”

“It would be like running away,” Aragorn replied, “Elboron is not fit for kingship, not yet. He has a couple more years left before that.”

Legolas frowned, “Aragorn-“

But Aragorn interrupted him, “You know,” he said, and Legolas could hear the smile in his words, “I never did manage to draw a picture of you.”

Legolas sighed at Aragorn’s attempt to change the subject, but instead of arguing accepted it, “There's always time for that,” he said, even as his mind told him there wasn’t.

Aragorn didn’t smile, and his voice became more serious, “I should like to draw you today,” he told him.

Legolas nodded but something possessed him to say no, “You have a court meeting, you can't be late,” he said, “You can draw me tomorrow if you'd like.”

Aragorn shook his head, “Cancel the meeting.”

Legolas gently lay his chin on Aragorn’s shoulder, and basked his lover’s warmth. He then pressed a kiss to the man’s neck, “I could never refuse you, Estel,” he whispered.

Legolas let go of his King, and Aragorn sat back down into his chair. His drawing book and pencils were already beside him, which made Legolas question how long Aragorn had been planning to draw him. _He’s always so busy,_ the elf thought, unhappily.

“Where would you like me?” Legolas asked with a smile.

Aragorn pointed to the ledge overlooking the citadel, “Look out on our land,” he said and placed his pencil down onto the parchment as Legolas sat. 

The two fell into a comfortable silence, vaguely listening to the murmuring of crowds in the citadel. Birdsong rang out on the breeze as stalls were packed up, children called into homes and horses drawn into stalls. Aragorn’s pencil made a ‘tch, tch’ noise as he drew upon his rough parchment, and Legolas found it oddly comforting. He closed his eyes and basked in the moment. He knew it wouldn’t last long, either Aragorn would finish his drawing or the garden would grow too dark for him to see. Nothing lasted, and Legolas wished with all his might that it would last just a bit longer for them. 

“Do you remember the day we met?” Aragorn suddenly asked.

Legolas smiled at the memory, “Of course, I do.”

“Do you remember what you told me?”

“Which part?” the elf asked in return.

“You told me my father had never left me,” Aragorn responded, “You said that love lives on, that all good things flow back into the land in the form of life.”

Legolas knew what Aragorn meant all too well, “Yes,” he said, “I do,” he responded sadly.

“Did you mean it?” Aragorn asked, the sound of his pencil on the parchment had ceased. 

After a long pause Legolas sighed, “I believed it,” he said softly, “and I still do.”

“Good,” warm breath danced over Legolas’ skin as Aragorn whispered his response into the elf’s ear.

Legolas leant towards Aragorn’s presence and the King held him close. Legolas opened his eyes to see the sun set below the horizon. Aragorn had not finished drawing Legolas. But it didn’t matter to either of them. Neither worried for the future, they were far too lost in the present to want to begin searching for tomorrow.

“Im innas melin n’uir (I will love you for eternity),” Legolas muttered.

“I know,” Aragorn smiled, “Ci veleth e-guil nîn (you are the love of my life),” Aragorn replied.

\--

**Blue print for Dictionary below:  
 **Sindarin** /Quenya – Translation - _Literal Meaning_**

****In order of first appearance to last:****  
 **Im innas melin n’uir** – I will love you for eternity. - _I will love you for eternity._  
 **Ci veleth e-guil nîn** – You are the love of my life. - _You are the love of my life._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for the delay...I'll update as soon as possible. Only one more chapter to go! I really don't like this chapter so I might go back and edit it later. Please leave a comment! Thank you!


	21. The Last Meeting

In the dim light of morning a figure stood alone in a great empty chamber. The chamber walls were cold, hard rock and stone. Footfalls echoed upon the floor, and the figure’s ears pounded with piercing silence. The castle held its breath, as if speaking would confirm the solemn event. The people were too sad to speak, and too fearful to dishonour the day with any trivial matter. All daily routines were forgotten as family members watched the horizon or the tower or ate silently about a table, their young children shooting one another confused glances and silent questions.

Upon the stone slabs of the chamber lay great men and women. But the silent figure stood in that chamber for only one of them. He stepped forward slowly, running a shaking hand over the cheek of one of the sleeping figures; which lay in the preserved stone-like fashion of Minis Tirith's honourable dead.

The figure knelt beside the body and watched it hesitantly, as if waiting for colour to return to the man's cheeks, or for his chest to rise and fall with sudden life, but nothing happened. The figure sighed and rested his cheek upon his folded arms. His lips moved, opening and closing, silent words tumbling into the air in his frustrating to transform thought into sound. Then he stopped trying, and a quiet laugh escaped his quivering lips.

“I wish you could have seen this day,” the words wavered with emotion, but the tone was strong, “You would have wept the most, I think.” The man waited a moment, as if expecting an answer, “I’m fearful of what lays ahead,” he said, before pausing, “But I am ready. I will make you proud, father.”

Elboron sighed softly; his time had come. He had known it would. He had known of King Elessar’s situation, and felt like he could relate, if only slightly. The King had not had much of a choice. Elboron had. He had been taught and trained and had talked with his father, Farmir, and his mother, Éowyn. He had made his decision. King Elessar had been fated as the savior of Minis Tirith, the one who would return it to its glory, and he had succeeded. He was only Prince Ithilien’s son, but he had been chosen by King Elessar, and he would make all those he loved, proud. He had known the King and Prince of Mirkwood well, believing them like uncles, and the believed in his rule and encouraged him to choose as he wished. But he had chosen. He would be King of Gondor, King of the white tower.

“Sire,” a voice spoke softly, “it is time.”

Elboron rose steadily and adjusted his royal garbs. His thirty-five years weighed heavily upon his shoulders, but he straightened his back nonetheless. He felt the strength of his forbearers flow through him as he turned and stepped towards the staircase, which lead to the morning light above.

-

Far away an elf stood at a balcony, looking out over the calm seas. The sun glowed as it made its way into the sky, the clouds holding its light in their downy, encompassing forms. The waves hushed a soft melody to the waking world and Legolas absent-mindedly stroked a hand through the grey curls of his lover, has he quietly sung along.

Aragorn had promised that they would one day reach Valinor together but he had also promised his people that he would stay with them to the very end. Legolas looked down at his King’s peacefully sleeping form and smiled. The creases of age upon his beautiful face still remained, but all worry and expectation had left with the shores of Endor. 

Countless people and creatures were alive because of what they had achieved all those years ago. A crumbling city had been rebuilt by its heir; a man who had feared his fate from the very second he’d known of it. Aragorn had changed so much from that small child Legolas had first met but the elf recalled proudly that he had seen greatness in the boy from the very beginning. No one else could have returned Minis Tirith to its original glory, despite what Aragorn had countlessly told Legolas. On the nights when Aragorn was restless and worried, Legolas would often sing to him or ask him to tell him his worries. Aragorn had told Legolas that Boromir would have been a better king, at which Legolas had always smiled and renewed the man’s confidence with kiss and whispered truth.

The purge of all darkness from Gondor had been a long and difficult task but Aragorn and Legolas had managed it, and generation after generation had lived in peace and prosperity because of it. They would be remembered in stories told by old men, in the dim light of dusk, and by stained parchments depicting brilliant battles.

Legolas wondered how the people would remember them; if they simply remembered a royal couple, or if they remembered their public kisses and friendlier, informal attitude. Aragorn and Legolas had both believed that formalities were unneeded, and that one could be respected for their bravery and leadership without having to act with superiority. They had been fair and respected, and Legolas hoped that would be remembered. 

Elboron, had taken King Elessar’s place as ruler of Minis Tirith, and Legolas knew in his heart that the boy would exceed expectation. He had grown up in the white city, and in the presence of his mentors whom had believed in him from the very beginning. Legolas knew how important that was, having been told this very fact so many times by his lover. Aragorn had often told the elf of how many times he had nearly given up, and how it was Legolas’ belief in him, his support and friendship, which had helped him through those difficult times. 

As Legolas watched Aragorn he wondered where Estel had gone, where _all_ those years had gone. Time had always seemed to rush by the elf. With Aragorn it had been different; time had seemed to slow down for them. Looking back on their lives, Legolas saw all that they had achieved together, all the times they had laughed, worried, and loved together. 

If he were asked, Legolas could recollect many occasions where he had believed himself to be the happiest he could ever be. The majority of which Aragorn was present. Legolas remembered the waking moments of countless days, when his mind was in a daze and warm arms wrapped around his chest; he remembered turning in those arms to kiss Aragorn's sleepy smile, and brush away the man's messy hair to see his grey eyes shine with laughter.

He remembered gripping Aragorn tightly and hushing him through nightmares, and when he couldn't sleep, walking with his lover under the moonlight. He remembered their gentle prods and jibes and how they had often transformed into childish tackles and tumbles, and the look on the faces of the council when the King returned with a lopsided grin and grass and straw in his hair. If Legolas were to say he remembered every detail with absolute clarity he would be lying. But it was the feeling of happiness which accompanied those blurred memories of ‘once were’s that made him smile and be thankful.

Legolas leant down and pressed a soft kiss to Aragorn’s lips, “Gi mellin, mellon nîn, melleth nín.” (I love you, my friend, my love.)

Aragorn’s eyes fluttered open, and the he smiled, “I know. Gi mellin. Im innas melin n’uir.” (I love you. I will love you for eternity.)

__

THE END

  
  


-  
**Blue print for Dictionary below:  
**Sindarin** /Quenya – Translation - _Literal Meaning_**

 ** **In order of first appearance to last:****  
**Gi mellin.** – I love you. - _I love you._  
**Mellon nîn.** – My friend. - _My friend_  
**Melleth nín.** – My love. - _My love_  
**Im innas melin n’uir** – I will love you for eternity. - _I will love you for eternity._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so we are at an end. I hope you enjoyed this fanfiction, and didn’t get _too_ frustrated with my erratic updates, and the odd terribly written chapter. I hope I’ve done the Legolas/Aragorn relationship justice and you aren’t seething in your seats. I will also be adding another chapter with the list of Sindarin to English translations for anyone who is interested. I would love to hear what you thought of this story. Constructive criticism is encouraged! However, I also enjoy answering non-constructive criticism. So hell, send it all. :) Thank you so much for sticking with this story, it was a pleasure writing it.


	22. Chapter 22

**A**  
**Anirne hene beriad i chên lîn** – She wanted to protect her child – _she wanted to protect the child (which is/was) her’s_  
**Av-'osto** – Don’t be afraid – _Don’t fear_  
**Avo dharo** – Don’t stop - _Stop halt/falter._  
**Avon ago den** – Don’t hurt him – _Don’t hurt/kill him!_

 **B**  
**Baw** – No – _No/stop_  
**Boe gin eithad?** – Are you alright? – _Do you need aid? or Is it necessary to assist you?_  
**Boe i 'waen** – I must go – _I must take leave quickly_

 **C**  
**Ci maer, mellonig?** – Are you well, my friend? – _Are you well, friend_  
**Ci vellon nîn n'uir** – You will, forever, be my friend – _You will be my friend, forever_  
**Ci velethron e-guil nîn** – You are the love of my life - _You are the love of my life._  
**Ci vilui** – Thank you – _You are kind_

 **D**  
**Daro** – Stop that – _Stop_  
**Davo eithad anech** – Let me help you – _Allow assistance for yourself_

 **E**  
**Estel** – Hope – _Our hope_  
**Estelio guru lîn ne dagor. Ethelithach** – You underestimate you skill in battle…you will come back – _Trust in your skill in battle. You will return._

 **G**  
**Gi melin** – I love you - _I love you._  
**Gi suilon** – Hello – _I greet you_  
**Gin ú-chenion** – I don’t understand you – _I don’t understand you_  
**Glamrim** – Orcs - _Noisy ones_  
**Goheno nin** – Sorry – _Forgive me_  
**Goheno nin, dan gin ú-velin** – Forgive me, but I do not love you – _Forgive me, but I don’t love you._  
**Goston** – I fear - _I fear._  
**Goston angin** – I am worried about you – _I fear for you._  
**Gwannas lû and, mellon nîn** – A long time has passed, my friend – _It has been too long, my friend_

 **H**  
**Henig** – Young one/child – _My child_  
**Hiril vuin** – My lady – _My lady_  
**Hortho** – Hurry - _Move with speed_

 **I**  
**I naw nîn û ben naw gîn** – I disagree – _I do not agree with your line of thought._  
**Im innas melin n’uir** – I will love you for eternity. - _I will love you for eternity._  
**Iston** – I know - _I know._

 **L**  
**Lasto nin Gi fuion** – I am disgusted with you – _I am disgusted with you_  
**Lethio nin** – Release me! – _Release me!_

 **M**  
**Ma nathach hi gwannathach or minuial archened?** – Did you think you could slip away at first light – unnoticed? – _Are you going to leave after morrow – unseen?_  
**Man cerig?** – What are you doing? – _What are you doing? *exclamation*_  
**Man te?** – What is it? – _What is it?_  
**Mae g'ovannen** – It is good to see you again – _You are well met_  
**Meleth nín** – My love - _My love_  
**Mellon nîn** – My friend – _My friend_  
**Melo nin** – Make love to me - _Love me._

__**N**  
**Nach gwannatha sin?** – Is this how you would take your leave? – _Are you going to leave in such a way?_  
**Nad no ennas** – Something’s out there! – _a thing to be there_  
**Ni edhel** – I am an elf – _I am an elf_  
**Ni ú-firen** – I am not human/mortal – _I am not mortal_  
**Ni veren an gi ngovaned, I eneth nîn** – I am pleased to meet you – _I am happy to meet you_  
**Nîdh!** – Ouch! – _It hurts!_  
**Nimsir** – White-River - _White-River_  
**Non dhínen** – Shh/don’t talk like that – _Be silent_  
**Noro** – Go - _Hurry_

__**O**  
**O man pedich?** – What do you speak of then? – _About what you speak?_  
**Odulen an gin eliad** – I’m here to help you. - _I’m here to help you._

__**P**  
**Pathro nin** – Fill me - _Fill me._  
**Peng** – Bow – _Bow (as in bow and arrow)_  
**Pilin** – Arrow – _Arrow (as in bow and arrow)_  
**Posto** – Stop that – _Rest_

__**S**  
**Savo amdir** – Have hope - _Have hope._  
**Sevin ú-estel** – I have no hope - _I have no hope._

__**T**  
**Tolo dan** – Come back – _Return_  
**Tolo govano ven** – Come join us – _Come join us_

__**U**  
**Ú-ethelithon** – I will not be coming back – _I will not return._  
**Ú-bedin o gurth ne dagor** – It is not of death in battle that I speak of – _I don’t speak about death in battle._  
**Ú-moe edaved** – There is nothing to forgive – _There is nothing to forgive_

**Author's Note:**

> Credit for the photos used in this fanfiction goes to Alef, who graciously allowed me to post them in my story. Alef, and their other cosplays - which are brilliant so definitely check them out!! - can be found on [Deviantart](http://the-alef.deviantart.com/) and [Tumblr](http://alef-art.tumblr.com/).


End file.
